United We Stand
by Sheytune
Summary: Another collection of one-shots. Some of them deal with Booth & Brennan as a couple. In others, they're not a couple, but are still connected through their daughter.
1. Independence Day

**Note: **I started this the week before Christmas, but it turns out the week before Christmas is really, really busy..

This might just be the first of a series of one-shots (we all know I'm not a multi-chapter story kind of person) dealing with possibilities of Booth & Brennan as a couple/parents. They will presumably all become AU as their actual relationship unfolds on the show.

**Title: **Independence Day

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She'd thought she was ready – ready to open up, to build a life with a man she'd come to trust even when she couldn't trust herself.

After Vincent's death, she wasn't going to miss another chance. She made the first move, and she – the one who prided herself on her rationality – hadn't given a moment's thought to birth control.

She wasn't ready for the changes that came with being pregnant. Her body changed, of course, and she didn't know from one day to the next if she'd be nauseous, or if her clothes would no longer fit, or if she'd have to fight back tears as she examined the remains of someone's child, or if her center of gravity would shift and make it difficult to balance.

Those changes she could have dealt with. After all, she knew that they were a necessary part of nurturing the growing fetus within her.

The changes in Booth were harder to deal with. He'd always seen himself as a protector, but knowing she was carrying his progeny made him even more protective than usual.

It had been a long time since anyone had made her dinner, or worried about what time she got home, or thrown her laundry in the machine for her. It made her feel loved in a way she hadn't felt since she was a child, and at first she was content to let him hover. She knew he worried, and it was easier to humor him. After all, letting him install non-stick decals on the shower didn't hurt anything, and it wasn't like she _enjoyed _vacuuming.

It all blew up a week before her due date. One of the interns had been examining a set of remains from modular bone storage and had reached the conclusion that one of the bones didn't belong with the rest. She hadn't wanted to believe it – the last time something like that had happened remained one of the hardest times of her life – so she'd blocked out the sound of Hodgins humming some annoying children's song and examined the remains herself.

When she realized that the remains had in fact been mixed up, there was nothing to do but go down to bone storage to determine how widespread the problem was. It wasn't until she returned to her office five hours later to find Booth barking orders into his cell phone that she realized that her cell phone was on her desk and the rest of the Jeffersonian team had been gone for at least two hours.

He was angry, she was resentful, and soon they were screaming at each other. Before she even knew what she was going to say, she heard herself demand that he leave. The shock and hurt on his face almost changed her mind, but before she could speak he whirled and stomped away. It wasn't until the sliding doors closed behind him that she collapsed into tears on her couch.

That night she went into labor.

**BbBbBb **

Angela had always been Bones's friend, and he appreciated the non-judgmental way she picked up the pieces. She was the one Bones called when she felt the contractions were close enough together to warrant a trip to the hospital. She was the one who held Bones's hand and made jokes to defuse the tension in the room, and when he held his daughter for the first time, she was the one who took the cell phone picture that he'd later pin up at his desk.

Bones had insisted she wanted to spend as little time in the hospital as possible, so he wasn't surprised when she was discharged the next day. He _was_ surprised, though, that she let him drive her home. He carried her bag to her door and made sure they were settled. Somehow, she'd managed to get a crib delivered and set up while she was in the hospital and her spare room had been transformed into a room she described as "suitably stimulating". Leaving her and the baby to return to his lonely apartment was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

His apartment seemed too big without her – them – there. Before long, he found himself closing the door to the baby's room, tossing her towels in the washing machine, and filling a box with the shoes she had left stacked neatly in the closet, the contents of the drawer he'd cleared out for her, and the organic tea she insisted on drinking before bed.

When his apartment was free of the visible signs of his latest romantic disaster, he flung himself onto the couch and turned on the TV.

An infomercial was playing when he woke to the ringing of the phone. For a second, he didn't know where he was, and he almost dropped the phone before he managed to find the right button.

When he answered, there was a moment of silence, then the wail of an angry newborn. Instantly, he was off the couch and searching for his keys. "Bones?", he asked.

Her answering "Booth" was said through a voice choked with tears, but it still reassured him in some way he couldn't fully explain. Even after everything that had happened, she'd called him.

"I'm on my way", he replied as he locked the door to his apartment and dashed down the stairs.

**BbBbBb **

She'd done her research – read the most up-to-date studies, listened intently to Angela's stories (even though they were anecdotal at best), attended the birthing classes – but nothing had prepared her for her complete and utter failure to comfort her own child.

There was _nothing wrong_. The baby didn't want to eat, her diaper was dry, and she was clearly uninterested in sleep, yet she screamed and screamed.

Brennan swaddled her, but that just made her more angry. She walked the floor, the baby cradled in her arms, until she bumped into the couch for the second time.

It only took five minutes of her sitting on the couch, crying as hard as her daughter, to give in and call Booth.

**BbBbBb **

It took him two tries to get his key into the lock, but soon he was rushing through the doors of the apartment building and taking the stairs two at a time.

He burst through the door of her apartment to see the two of them cuddled together on the couch, the baby's legs kicking stiffly as she screamed. At the sound of the door hitting the wall, Brennan looked up, complete misery on her face.

His heart was racing, but he forced himself to calmly shut and lock the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his coat on a chair, then walked over to Brennan. "Hey, Bones", he said, his tone even. "Bad night?"

She took a shuddering breath before she answered. "I don't know what's wrong, Booth. She just keeps screaming."

He reached down and took the baby. "Come here, kiddo. You like giving your mom a hard time, don't you?" The baby snugly cradled in his arms, he rocked back and forth, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Brennan uncurled herself from the couch and walked to the kitchen. She returned a minute later, a glass of water in her hand. Setting the water on the coffee table, she collapsed back onto the couch. "She's been crying for ages", she said.

Booth kept his voice quiet as he answered. "She doesn't have a fever. I think she's just mad, Bones." He grinned at her. "Who would have thought that the two of us would have a stubborn, temperamental child?"

Almost against her will, Brennan laughed. In Booth's arms, the baby drew a shuddering breath and quieted, staring intently at the man who now held her.

"I think she's tired herself out", Booth said. "Want to try feeding her again?"

Moments later, the baby was happily suckling at Brennan's breast, the temper tantrum long forgotten.

Booth gazed longingly at the tender scene in front of him, then reached in his pocket for his keys. "Looks like you've got it under control, Bones. I should get going."

Brennan tore her eyes away from her daughter and looked up at him. "Thanks, Booth. I couldn't have done it without you."

Booth grinned. "Of course you could, Bones, but call me anytime."

"You could stay?" Somehow, it was a question.

There was nothing Booth wanted more, but he knew she needed to know he trusted her to care for their child alone. "Not tonight, Bones. You can handle it. But I'd love to bring breakfast over in the morning?"

Brennan nodded, her attention turning back to her daughter. Booth leaned down and kissed his daughter's cheek. "Be good, munchkin." Before he could think the better of it, he pressed a quick kiss on Brennan's lips. "Love you, Bones"

With that, he walked out the door, his steps lighter than they'd been in days.

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**Note: **There seems to be a bit of confusion, so let me clarify. In my mind, they have a fight - possibly their first big fight, since they seem to be letting things go that can't continue in the long run - and before they can begin to make up, she goes into labour. Booth is there when she gives birth, but as an observer - Angela has been brought in to support Brennan. Their relationship is not definitely over, but they're not really _together_ at this point because with the chaos and exhaustion of childbirth, they haven't had time to get over being mad and work things out. Make sense?


	2. Embarrassing

**Note: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I very much appreciate those who took the time to give me feedback. Also, I've added a note to the end of the last chapter, since there was a little confusion over it. Hopefully this one is more clear.

**Title: **Embarrassing

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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I have the most embarrassing parents in the world. My friend Becky thinks hers are bad, but they're a walk in the park compared to my parents.

For starters, my parents don't live together. I guess some of my friends have parents who don't live together, but my parents don't even live in the same _country_. That's right, I'm the freak who lives with her dad in D.C. because her mom is always off in the middle of nowhere digging up skeletons.

That's not the worst of it, either. Last week, Aiden came over and my dad talked for fifteen minutes about how I was his little girl, pretending to be subtle as he took his gun out of the gun safe to clean it. Aiden won't even say hi to me in the halls anymore.

Living with dad isn't so bad when he's not trying to make me a social pariah. Aunt Angela is always around if I need to talk about, you know, girl stuff. She calls me the "daughter she never had". I can't blame her – after all, if my kid were a geek like Michael, I'd probably want a daughter too. He's so annoying, always calling me "squirt" - like it's any sort of big deal that he's 7 months, one week, and 3 days older than me. The little kids are cute, though, and Angela is cool, even if she does try to set dad up with her friends from yoga or women she meets through her gallery. It's ludicrous. My dad is way too old for _dating_.

I understand why my mom has to be away – she's the best in the world at bone stuff – but I wish I got to see her more than in just the summer. She's always going on about cultural mores – you'd think she'd know that teenage girls need their mother. Sure, she calls every week, but it's not the same**.**

At least I get to see her next week – even if it means leaving Dad alone in D.C. for two months. Parker promised he stop by every weekend, but I still worry about him. I mean, his major hobby is nagging me about cleaning my room or being five minutes late getting home from school or not leaving dirty dishes in the sink. What will he do when he doesn't have to hassle me about where I am and what I'm doing every second of the day?

I guess he'll be OK. After all, it's not like we haven't done this every year for the past 10 years. School ends and Dad & I hop on a plane and fly to wherever Mom is. Dad's always anxious – I don't think he likes flying – and when we see Mom, it's always super awkward. They both fuss over me - "You seem to be growing at the typical rate for someone your age" and "Do you have your passport?" and "Let's go, we have a long ride" - but they're secretly sneaking glances at each other. What's that about?

At the end of the summer, it's the reverse. Mom and I fly back to D.C., and this time it's her that can't sit still. I don't know how I got to be such a good flier with parents who lose their minds every time they're on an airplane.

**BbBbBb **

She looks more like her mother every day.

She's got Bones's brains, too. Just my luck, I have a genius kid who pulls off A+'s without even trying. She never studies – except the anatomy textbooks she doesn't know I found hidden under her bed.

She doesn't say it, but she misses her mom.

I know Bones misses her, too, which is why I fly halfway around the world every summer to drop my little girl off, then turn around and fly right home to a house that is so empty I swear I hear an echo when the phone rings. When Bones first left, that little girl was what got me through the day. She gave me a reason to get up in the morning, a reason to go home after work instead of heading for the nearest pool hall.

She's growing up, though, and soon I'll be alone.

Angela keeps trying to set me up with some of her friends, but I'm not ready. Hey, even I think that's pathetic. After all, Bones has been gone for eleven years. How can I _not_ want to meet someone new?

On the other hand, how can I be in a relationship with someone else when my heart still belongs to Bones? I've tried that before, and I just ended up disgusted with myself.

No, I'd rather go on as I have since she left – looking after our little girl and living my life alone.

**BbBbBb **

I'm so exhausted. I can't believe those losers on the plane insisted on taking flash pictures after the lights were out, You'd think it was their first flight. Half of me expected Dad to go over there and pull his "I'm an FBI agent, you will do what I say" routine, but he just stared out the window.

The flight from the capital to the small city closest to where Mom is working was rough, probably because of the huge storm outside. You know you're somewhere small when you have to get off the plane and walk to the terminal – which would be fine if it weren't _pouring_. It's totally going to wreck my shoes. It's already wrecked my hair, which is soaked and straggly. I can't meet Mom like this. I hope this place has bathrooms with hot air hand dryers.

**BbBbBb **

It was a long drive in this morning, made worse by the storm, and I can't deny I'm a little anxious. Rationally, I know that air travel is extremely safe, but my mind does dwell on the rare fatalities when it's my daughter and Booth on the plane.

About an hour ago, I stopped at a cafe. I drank a cup of coffee and called Angela for the first time in three months. Cell reception is poor once you're outside of the city. We have e-mail set up at the camp and the occasional use of a satellite phone, but that's for emergencies and the occasional family contact. I've missed hearing her voice.

Sometimes I wonder why I left D.C. in the first place.

I can't wait to see my child, though. I tell myself she's better off – that Booth is an excellent father, and that Angela is better equipped to help her navigate through the treacherous teenage years than I am – but I wish I could be there. I'm still her mother, even if I haven't been a very good one.

Their plane landed ten minutes ago. Where are they?

**BbBbBb **

I can't believe I dried and combed my hair, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and still was done before Dad. What was he doing in there? I think he changed his shirt. How weird. We're in the middle of nowhere. Who cares what he looks like?

**BbBbBb **

Oh.

She looks beautiful. Leave it to Bones to stop my heart wearing khakis and a t-shirt.

Why did I ever let her go?

**BbBbBb **

She's so much more grown up than she was last year. She's babbling about the flight and her shoes and how long it will take for her luggage to arrive, and Booth's got his hand on her shoulder to reassure her. He's such a good father.

He looks older. I suppose that shouldn't be a surprise. After all, it's been eleven years since we shared a home. The gray that's woven itself through his hair looks good on him.

He was supposed to get on the next flight out, but the storm has caused delays across the board. It wouldn't surprise me if they closed the airport soon.

I can't stop looking at him.

**BbBbBb **

OK, seriously, they'd better get the power back on! I need my luggage. Like I'm going to spend the next three months in the clothes I'm wearing now.

Since the airline staff are lighting candles, I guess this kind of thing happens a lot here. You wouldn't catch an American airline stocking their check in counters with candles and matches.

Come on, people, I need my bag!

**BbBbBb **

Naturally, Bones has a suite in the best hotel in town. She's funny that way – she's content to live out of a tent in the middle of the desert most of the year, but when she's back in the city, nothing but the best will do. Since the airport is closed, she was nice enough to offer me the couch tonight.

I'm supposed to be on a plane home, not sitting in Bones's suite, watching my daughter talk to her mom. Bones is so good with her – interested, attentive, truthful, loving.

I'm exhausted, but watching them together more than makes up for it. Our girl is starting to yawn, though, and it won't be long before she's in bed.

Then it will be just Bones and me.

Who's the patron saint of travelers again?

**BbBbBb **

She's in the shower, and it's just the two of us. I'm not sure what to say to him. It's been a long time since we've had a conversation that didn't revolve around travel arrangements or parenting issues.

Angela would have told me if he was serious about someone, wouldn't she?

I can hear myself babbling as much as our daughter was earlier – about the funding problems at the dig, the drive in, my plans for the summer – but I can't seem to stop.

When Booth and I were together, we didn't always agree. In fact, we often disagreed. However, Booth always _listened_.

I don't think anyone has listened so well since.

**BbBbBb **

I'm totally embarrassed that I squealed like that when I saw her at the top of the escalator. I hope no one from school is here.

The two months since I've been back in D.C. seem like a year. I can't wait to tell Mom that I'm on the debate team and the swim team, and that Matt asked me out. I haven't even told Dad about that one.

It's hard to believe I'll be able to talk to her whenever I want now that she'll be in D.C. It sounds like she's staying, too – she says she's going to look for a place on Monday.

Dad drove me to the airport, of course. Aunt Angela volunteered, but he said he didn't mind. He even said it was OK if Mom stays with us until she finds a place – something about returning the favor from when she let him stay in our hotel room when the airport was closed for three days? He had a weird smile on his face when he said it. Sometimes I just don't understand him.

I thought Mom might want to stay in a hotel, but she agreed to stay with us. I hope Mom doesn't mind staying in Parker's old room. Parker says it's fine – he doesn't live there anymore, even though the walls are still covered with those weird posters he left when he moved out. He's even coming over for dinner – something about not wanting to miss the fireworks? I don't know what that means.

Mom seems really jet-lagged, but Dad's totally in charge, finding a luggage cart and grabbing her luggage off the conveyor belt so that we can chat. Before I know what's happening, I'm pushing the cart to the car. It's not until I turn around to ask a question that I realize that they're holding hands.

Like I said, I have the most embarrassing parents in the world.

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I hope this one was less confusing.


	3. Breaking Up

**Note: **Here's a slightly happier one.

**Title: **The Breakup

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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Booth heard the shower turn off, followed by the creak of the bathroom door opening. Three weeks ago, he had thought she was a morning person. The odd time that they'd spent the night in the same place, she'd seemed fully alert first thing in the morning. However, since Vincent Nigel-Murray's death, he'd realized that she preferred a slower start. She started her day with a shower, followed by the careful application of lotion. After that, she pulled on her robe (if they were at her place) or his robe (if they were at his) and stumbled into the kitchen in search of breakfast.

He filled a mug with the freshly-brewed coffee and handed it to her as she walked in. He couldn't hide his grin as she murmured her thanks and reached for a cereal bowl. He knew what would happen next – she'd prepare her cereal, cut up some fruit, and take her breakfast to the table where she'd eat and read an anthropology journal in silence.

His toast dinged and he cracked two eggs into the hot pan on the stove. When his breakfast was ready, he joined her at the table. They ate in companionable silence.

It wasn't until she'd eaten the last of her cereal that he spoke.

"I have Parker this weekend."

Her head snapped up. "Oh."

He knew her better than anyone in the world, but he couldn't interpret the expression on her face. "Yeah", he answered.

"Would you prefer that I spend the weekend at my place?", she asked tentatively.

"No!", he answered, his voice louder than expected in the quiet apartment. "I want you here Bones, but only if you want to be. If you'd rather not spend the weekend with an eleven year old, I understand."

"Oh. I like Parker." Brennan nodded decisively. "I'll be here."

**BbBbBb **

"Goodnight, Bren."

Brennan looked up at Angela's greeting. "You know Ange", she answered, "It appears as if your hips have shifted even further. I suspect you will give birth in the next week."

"Can't be soon enough, Sweetie. I'm pretty sure Hodgins is going to need a forklift to get me out of bed soon."

Brennan stared at her. "That would be impractical."

Angela laughed. "Yeah. Hopefully junior here will hurry up and it won't be necessary." She gestured at the remains on the table. "You working late tonight?"

Brennan shook her head and started to pack away the bones. "Not tonight."

Angela grinned. "Hot date?" 

Brennan smiled in return. "Booth has Parker this weekend. Rebecca is dropping him off at six and then we're going to dinner."

"Meeting the child? That's a big step, Bren."

"I already know Parker, Ange."

"Yes, but this is different. This time you're his dad's girlfriend."

Brennan shrugged. "I don't see why that should make a difference."

**BbBbBb **

"Booth?" Brennan shut the apartment door behind her and kicked off her shoes. As she set her bag down, her cell phone chirped. She answered it as she walked further into the apartment.

"Bones? Where are you?"

"I'm in your living room, Booth. Where are you?", Brennan answered.

"Traffic is a mess. Look, Bones, Rebecca's not answering her cell. I hate to ask, but can you let Parker in? I'll be there as soon as I can."

Brennan stood there in silence until Booth asked, "Bones? Is that OK?"

Brennan nodded, feeling a little foolish when she realized he couldn't see her. "Yes. I will let Parker in. Hurry home." She ended the call and settled nervously on the couch.

**BbBbBb **

"Bones?" Parker kicked off his shoes, hung his jacket on the hook by the door, and dropped his backpack on the floor. "What are you doing here? Where's dad?" He moved past her into the apartment.

Brennan waved to Rebecca and closed the door as Parker flung himself onto the couch and started fiddling with remotes. "Your father is stuck in traffic. He asked me to let you in."

When Booth walked through the door twenty minutes later, Parker was happily engrossed in a video game while Brennan typed away on her laptop.

"Hey, Buddy", Booth said, prompting a wave from Parker as he concentrated on his game. Booth walked over to the couch and leaned down to kiss Brennan. "Hey, Bones. Thanks for coming through for me."

The car on the TV crashed into the wall as Parker threw down the controller and stood. "Are you _dating_ Bones?"

Booth stood up and looked at his son. "Yes."

"_Great_." Parker stomped down the hall and slammed his door.

**BbBbBb **

An hour later, they were at the restaurant. Booth and Brennan discussed weekend plans, debating the merits of visiting a museum, taking in a hockey game, or going on a hike in a nearby park while Parker sullenly played with his food, pushing it around with his fork and occasionally taking a bite.

When the meal was over, Parker excused himself and went to the bathroom. Brennan leaned across the table. "Maybe I should spend the night at my place."

"No", Booth protested, "Come home with me. I know Parker's being a pain in the ass, but he'll get over it."

Brennan shook her head. "I think he needs some time to adjust. I'll go home tonight. Maybe I can meet you guys somewhere tomorrow?" She threw some bills on the table and pulled on her coat.

Booth nodded. "OK. I don't know what's gotten into him, Bones. He's always liked you."

**BbBbBb **

Parker was back to his usual self in the morning, eating stacks of pancakes and challenging Booth to race after race in Mario Kart. It wasn't until they met Brennan at the zoo after lunch that he became sullen and sulky again.

Brennan was in her element, though, and Booth could see his son start to melt under her stories of the animals she had seen on her travels as well as the facts she gleaned from reading every piece of information on the plaques by the exhibits.

When he spotted an ice cream stand, he left them together while he went to buy the treats.

As soon as Booth was out of earshot, Parker turned to Bones. "Bones? Can I ask you something?"

"You just did", Brennan replied.

"No", Parker explained, his voice serious. "Something else."

Brennan stopped walking and turned to look at him. "Yes, Parker. You can ask me something."

She studied him intently as he asked, "When you and Dad break up, will you and I still get to see each other?" It took her a moment to compose an answer, and he continued, "When Dad breaks up with his girlfriends, I never see them again, but I've known you my whole life. We've had lots of fun. I don't want you to leave."

"I have no plans to break up with your father, Parker", she answered, "but if we do break up, we'll still be partners, and you and I will still see each other."

"Can we still use your pool?"

Brennan laughed. "Yes." She looked over at Booth, who was walking towards them, his hands full of ice cream cones. "Come on, if we don't hurry your dad's going to eat that without us."

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My laptop power cable is dying. It is a sad day. (Well, OK, it's been going on for about 6 days. If I had any sense, I would have taken care of this days ago. Clearly I have no sense.)


	4. Wedding Day

**Note: **I blame the sappiness of this one on my lack of sleep.

**Title: **Wedding Day

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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The taxi screeched to a halt in front of the church and Hodgins tossed a roll of bills at the driver. A late spring storm in London had caused flight cancellations and delays. They were lucky to have made it at all.

As the taxi pulled away, he and Angela raced up the stairs. At the top, they took a second to compose themselves, then walked through the door.

The best man was waiting inside to show them to their seats. As he escorted Angela up the aisle, he whispered, "I didn't think you were going to make it."

Angela waved at Cam and her husband. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world, Michael."

**BbB**

Booth poked his head into the room. "Are you _sure_ you want to go through with this?"

His daughter laughed. "Yes, Dad, I'm sure."

Booth dangled his car keys in front of her. "We can take off, make a run for the border, just the two of us ..."

"Hey!"

At Brennan's exclamation, Booth corrected himself, "Just the three of us. It'll be like old times."

At the look on his daughter's face, he sighed. "You're sure." He pulled her into a hug, whispering, "Be happy, pumpkin.", then took Brennan's arm. "Come on, Bones, we'll see her out there."

Ten minutes later he watched as his little girl walked down the aisle with the man she loved.

**BbB**

The reception was a joyous mishmash of cops and lawyers, academics and politicians, judges and criminals. There was food, expertly prepared by the bride's honorary uncle, and wine, flown in from the groom's parents' vineyard. There were toasts from the best man and the maid of honor, the parents of the bride and the groom, and from one former prosecutor turned judge who somehow managed to work the phrase "as stubborn and blind as her parents" into her speech.

As the evening went on, the tables were pulled back to clear a space for dancing. The bride and groom started the dancing, and their family and friends joined them. There was something for everyone – slow, romantic ballads, up-tempo rock, and classic wedding songs like the bird dance that had everyone from Parker's three-year-old son to the groom's eighty-two-year-old grandmother on the floor.

Eventually, the bride and groom took their leave. As the party began to die down, Booth and Brennan said their goodbyes and left. The car was chilly as they drove through the dark streets.

When they were almost home, Booth broke the silence. "She looks happy."

"Yes", Brennan agreed.

Booth pulled into the driveway and stopped the car. He opened his door and got out. When he realized Brennan hadn't moved, he ducked his head back inside the vehicle. "Bones? You planning to sleep out here?"

Brennan looked over at him. "If it wasn't for me, you could have had a wedding like that."

Booth shut the door and walked over to her side of the car. He opened her door and, taking her hand, pulled her to her feet. "No, I couldn't have." He put his arm around her as they walked to the door.

"I know you wanted to get married, Booth. You proposed to Hannah, and Rebecca."

They reached the front door and Brennan punched the code into the lock. As it whirred open, Booth said, "It wasn't about the party, Bones. I wanted someone to share my life with, someone to grow old with. And I have that – with you."

Brennan stepped over the threshold and turned to face Booth as he shut the door behind him. "So you don't regret that we never got married?"

Booth brushed her hair back and cupped her cheek. "How could I? I'm the luckiest man in the world."

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Interesting fact: I always mistype "bride" as "bridge". I don't know why.


	5. Not His First Choice

**Note:** This is what was going through my mind at the gym today. It made tonight's strength training class go faster.

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own them.

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She knows she's not his first choice.

After all, while she was working on her second doctorate, he was planning a life with Rebecca and their unborn child.

"_Are you sulking?"_

_Booth pushed the empty coffee cup away from him. "No."_

"_You are sulking."_

_He leaned across the table. "I can't believe they're making me go out of town for three days. You could have the baby any day now."_

"_That is statistically unlikely."_

"_Promise you'll wait until I get back?"_

She's seen him with his son – seen the underlying sadness he can't quite hide when Parker's visit comes to an end – and she knows it hurts that he can't be there for every one of his son's milestones.

If he'd married Rebecca, he would have been there to read bedtime stories, play catch in the park, and be the father he wants to be to Parker.

They might even have had more children.

In that hypothetical reality, she might have worked with him, but they would not have been partners.

_She doesn't drive him to the airport. After all, she is very highly paid. It's far more efficient for him to take a cab._

He got a second chance with Hannah. They were in love. They even lived together.

After how strongly he'd insisted that Tessa had her own place, she hadn't expected that.

_Air travel is extremely safe, but she keeps a radio on as she works until she's sure he's taken off safely._

If she'd forgotten how it felt to be lonely over the years of their partnership, the long months when he went home to someone else reminded her.

_She doesn't sleep well without him._

_Of course, she's 37 weeks and 3 days pregnant. She doesn't sleep well in any situation._

She doesn't know what she would have done if he'd married Hannah. She suspects it would have involved her passport, a scientific grant, and some human remains.

_She's not really sure why she's waiting at the airport. Booth is more than capable of taking a cab home. _

_But she's missed him, and she couldn't sit quietly at home waiting any longer._

Hannah said no.

She'd spent months trying to be Hannah's friend, but when Hannah called to say that she'd turned him down, she found it hard to end the call politely. Of course, she was angry – Hannah had promised not to hurt him – but the undercurrent of hope surprised her.

_The arrivals board says his flight landed 15 minutes ago, but he's not there. She stands awkwardly, trapped in a body that no longer feels entirely hers, scanning the crowd._

_Could he have changed his flight?_

_Could he have changed his mind?_

_It wouldn't be the first time someone left her, never to return._

She's not sure what would have happened if Vincent hadn't been shot. Would they ever have found themselves in a sexual relationship, or would they have remained in the limbo they'd been in for far too long?

It might have taken longer, but she suspects they would have found their way out of limbo. After all, Booth is a gambler, and everything happens eventually.

_When she's almost given in to the urge to drive home and wait for him, there he is at the top of the stairs. His face lights up when he sees her, and he's dodging fellow travelers and taking the stairs two at a time. _

_Before she knows it, he's pulled her into a giant hug and is murmuring nonsense to her distended belly._

Yes, she knows she's not his first choice.

But sometimes, it feels like she is.


	6. It's a Date

**Note: **Thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review. Getting a review notice brightens my day.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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"_What?_" Michael's _Advanced Chemistry _textbook fell with a thud as he jumped to his feet.

"I think we should have sex", his study partner repeated. "Don't you want to know what all the fuss is about?

Michael looked frantically at the stairs, terrified that someone would appear. "We can't have _sex_", he whispered. "Your dad would shoot me."

"Mom wouldn't let him", she calmly replied. "Besides, I'm not proposing that we make an announcement. He doesn't need to know."

Michael paced back and forth, one hand rubbing his temple. "This is insane."

"If you're not interested, I can ask someone else."

"No!" He almost shouted, but stopped himself in time to make it a loud whisper. "You can't just go around asking guys for sex, you know."

She shrugged. "Why not?", she asked. "It seems the most straightforward way of getting what I want."

He'd known her her whole life. When he'd had the chicken pox when he was five, she'd brought over her favourite DVD and watched it with him. (She had, of course, been properly vaccinated.)

When their families rented a cottage together one summer, he'd put his biggest frog in her bed. He'd thought it would be fun to watch her scream and cry, but instead she took it to her mom and they dissected it together.

For a long time, she'd been like a sister to him. If he were being honest with himself, that had changed by the time she was fourteen. He'd started to notice her then, not as an annoying little sister but as a hot girl.

His friends had noticed, too, and on more than one occasion he'd wanted to hit them for saying things that were only a fraction as crass as the thoughts that went through his head when he saw her. Instead, he'd casually mention that her overprotective FBI agent father and forensic anthropologist mother could probably make a body disappear without a trace and let them fill in the blanks themselves.

That was enough to keep even the most oversexed teenage boy at a respectful distance.

Even him.

"But … we need to think about the consequences", he finally said.

She nodded decisively and reached for her backpack. "I already did." As he watched in horror, she pulled six boxes of condoms out of her bag.

"You … that's … that's really a lot."

She shrugged. "I didn't know what size, and I thought it would be interesting to experiment with some different kinds."

"You thought it would be interesting ..." He shook his head, hoping that would help him focus. "I don't mean just consequences like pregnancy. I mean the family stuff – like what would happen if we broke up?"

She grinned up at him, and it was the same teasing grin she'd used when she was nine to convince him to cross the footbridge on the outside of the rails. That had cost him a summer on crutches.

The cost for this request could be much higher. She could get pregnant – no form of birth control was 100% effective. It could go badly, and they might never be able to face each other again. Their parents could find out, and although he didn't really believe her dad would shoot him, he was pretty sure that he'd be happier if he didn't put that theory to the test.

She stood up and walked towards him, lifting her hand as if she wanted to touch him before letting it fall uselessly at her side. Her blue eyes fastened on his. "Don't you want to?" For the first time, he saw a hit of vulnerability cross her face. As always, it was his undoing.

"Of course I do", he answered "But sex has a way of complicating things, and we're going to different universities. I don't want us to stop being friends."

"We won't", she said seriously. "We're not going to university for four months. We could have a lot of fun this summer. I'm not asking for forever."

He laughed. "You'd better hope my mom doesn't get wind of this. She's been planning our wedding since before you were born."

She smiled. "I can be very sneaky, you know."

"Oh, I know", he answered. "I _also_ know you sometimes get caught – and somehow, I'm always the one who gets blamed."

"I'll make it worth your while", she said.

The door opened at the top of the stairs and they sprang apart, ending up in the chairs they had been studying in. "Michael?", her father said, "Are you staying for dinner? We're having my world famous steaks and some rabbit food for Bones."

"Not today", Michael answered. "I have to get home."

From the top of the stairs, they heard, "You know it's not rabbit food, Booth. A vegetarian diet is extremely healthy." The door shut, and they were virtually alone again.

He looked over at his study partner. "I really do have to go. Dad's at the Cantilever board meeting, Mom's got something at her gallery, and I said I'd be home to babysit the little ones."

They gathered their books and papers and walked to the bottom of the stairs. Before they walked up the stairs, he touched her arm. "Hey?"

She turned to look at him, and he continued, "Do you want to come over on Saturday? My family's going to the cottage for the weekend, and I'm staying back to study."

She nodded. "OK."

He couldn't leaned towards her until their lips met in their first kiss. "It's a date."

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This one is (obviously) more subtly B/B. Thoughts?


	7. Getting Caught

**Note: **Since people asked.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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She woke to the ringing of the phone. It was cozy under the blankets, and one hand crept out into the cool morning air to locate the phone by touch. Her eyes still closed, she pressed the appropriate button and muttered a groggy "H'llo?"

When she heard the amused, "Well, good morning. Can I speak with Michael?", she shot straight up in bed. Her eyes frantically darted around the small dorm room as she remembered where she was.

She must have been silent too long, because the woman on the phone said, "I'm going to take that as a no. Can you tell him to call his mother?"

"Yes", she answered, "I will."

She pressed the button to end the call and, laying back down, pulled a pillow over her face.

**BbB**

Of course, the phone rang as soon as her hands were covered in paint. She used her elbow to hit the "speakerphone" button and said, "Hello?"

"Hi, mom." At the sound of her son's voice, she reached for a cloth and began to wipe the paint from her hands.

"Good morning, honey. You must have gotten my message."

She could almost see his face flush through the phone lines. "Yes, I heard you called."

Her hands clean, she poured herself a fresh cup of tea and sat in the comfortable old chair she kept in the corner of the studio for just these occasions. "You know, I didn't get the name of the young lady I spoke with this morning."

"She's a friend, mom."

"A good friend, I assume?"

Her son laughed. "A good friend."

"So", she said, wondering how long she should make him squirm, "You know you're going to have to tell me about her, right?"

"Well", he said, "You know she's a friend."

"A good friend", Angela reiterated.

"Yes, a good friend. We've been seeing each other for a while."

"That sounds serious."

There was a moment of silence. "Um, maybe. I don't know."

"OK", Angela summarized, "so she's a friend – a good friend – who you've been seeing for a while, and it might be serious. You should invite her to join us for Thanksgiving."

"Not this year", Michael answered, "She's got her own family thing."

"Oh!" Angela's hand flew up to cover her mouth. "You already asked her. This _is_ serious."

"Mom", Michael warned, "Don't go overboard. We're just friends."

"Yes", Angela replied softly, "Good friends. I understand."

**BbB**

Michael hung up the phone and looked over at the woman sitting nervously on his bed. "We're off the hook. She didn't recognize your voice."

The tension left her and she flopped back on the bed.

"Oh, thank god. I mean, can you imagine what would have happened if she _had_?"

He walked over and sat down beside her. "Yes", he said seriously.

She raised her head to look at him, and he continued, "I think we should tell them."

She propped herself up on her elbows. "But … what about the pressure, and the expectations, and the potential for gunfire?"

"I'm tired of lying", he replied. "We talk every night. Every weekend you come here or I go to visit you there. You're a huge part of my life, and not sharing that with our families feels like we're ashamed. I don't want to hide anymore. I think we should tell them."

She'd never been able to hide from him, and he could clearly read the doubt on her face. "Think about it, OK?"

"OK", she answered.

**BbB**

It was good to be home. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed it – her old, mostly-blind dog, the familiar walls of her childhood room, the sound of bickering over the number of pies needed to feed 12 people at Thanksgiving.

She walked out into the backyard. It was a cold, drizzly day, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that she was home.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. _Today's the day._

_Yes_, she typed in reply, and smiled at the response. _Your dad's not really going to shoot me, is he?_

Chuckling, she slid her phone back into her pocket.

**BbB**

The day passed in a flurry of activity – making salads, peeling potatoes, setting the table, and all of the other work that goes into hosting a dinner. She was glad to help out – it kept her from dwelling on the revelation to come.

Before she was really ready, they were sitting around the table. They said grace – her parents had long since agreed that grace would be said together on holidays, but silently (if desired) the rest of the year – and then she stood on legs that were far wobblier than usual.

"I have an announcement."

Michael smiled at her from two seats away and stood as well. "Actually, _we_ have an announcement."

Platters and bowls were placed back on the table as everyone stopped to listen. She took a shaky breath. "Michael and I have been seeing each other."

"Yes", Michael agreed, "We kept it secret at first, but you're our family, and we wanted you to know. This relationship is important to us, and so are all of you."

"Oh!", Angela exclaimed, "So it _was _you!"

Brennan looked across the table at her best friend. "What was … oh!"

"What?", Booth asked.

"You so don't want to know, dude", Hodgins answered.

"You definitely don't, Booth", Brennan agreed.

"I'm so happy for you both!" Angela bustled around the table and squeezed hugged them each in turn.

"Can we be happy for them later?", Parker asked, "The food is getting cold."

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	8. Singing

**Note: **Thanks to all who reviewed!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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As he pours the pancake batter into the hot frying pan, he can hear her voice over the running water of the shower.

She sings when she's happy. In the days when they spent most of their time together but went home alone, he hadn't known that.

If anyone had asked, he would have said that he knew her better than anyone else. He supposes that's true. Her relationship with her family is loving but somewhat distant, and while Angela is her best friend, they've always had their own distinct lives. Angela had her art and her dating life (and now, her husband and son), and Bones had her work – and, by extension, him.

As well as he'd known her, he finds himself surprised at the things he didn't know – the way she looks in her oldest sweat pants and her grad-school t-shirt, the way she stops talking in mid-sentence when her favourite song comes on the radio, the way she hits snooze at least twice before she gets out of bed.

He's learned that she likes nothing more than to spend Friday evenings curled up beside him on the couch as they watch a classic movie. He's sure she could point out the inaccuracies in almost any one of them, but instead she studies them as if they hold answers to questions she's been trying to answer her whole life.

They haven't really moved in together – they each have their own place – but they spend most of their nights together anyway.

She's good with Parker. Sure, she's her usual blunt, tactless self, but Parker likes that, and he knows that his son is safe with her. He likes seeing them together, and the hot summer has given him many chances to watch the two of them playing and splashing in the pool in her apartment building.

He'd never expected they'd be here. Sure, he'd hoped they'd be together, but even at his most optimistic, he hadn't thought they'd move into sharing their lives, expecting a _child_, so effortlessly.

They don't agree on everything, of course. Some days it feels like they don't agree on much of anything, but they love each other, they respect each other, and they're getting better at compromise.

The batter stops bubbling and he flips the pancakes. In the bathroom, the shower shuts off. She won't be out right away – he knows she has an elaborate post-shower lotion routine – but it won't be long until she joins him in the kitchen.

In a way, he wishes the way they've spent these past few months could go on forever. It can't, though. Last night, he felt their child kick for the first time. Once the baby is born, things will have to change.

When Rebecca was expecting Parker, he'd wanted them to be a family. He'd proposed, and she'd said no.

He's smarter now. Sure, he'd expected that if – when – he had another child, he'd raise her in a more traditional family with parents who had made that commitment, but he knows that if he proposed to Bones, he'd end up losing her. Either she'd say no and their fledgling relationship wouldn't survive, or she'd run and he'd be left with nothing more than the knowledge that he had a child he'd never seen. Hell, part of him is still surprised she didn't run as soon as she found out she was pregnant. Based on the fear on her face when she told him, she'd considered it.

She'd stayed, though, and they're closer than they'd ever been. She doesn't believe in marriage, so he won't ask.

He wants to believe it doesn't matter – that they're committed to each other and to their child, and that a promise made in front of their family and friends wouldn't make that commitment any stronger – but he can't quite convince himself. He still wants to marry her. He wants to spend the rest of his life bickering over whether she should carry a gun or he should eat meat, living in a house decorated with objects she picked up in places he can't pronounce, and coming home from church on Sunday morning to find her typing furiously on her latest book.

He wants to spend the rest of his life getting to know her.

She walks through the door wearing the shirt he tossed on the floor last night, those ridiculous bunny slippers on her feet, and she smiles. Right then, he starts to believe he just might be lucky enough to get that chance.

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Suggestions? Comments? Are there any of these that you want a companion piece for?


	9. Not Her Usual Type

**Note: **A companion piece to "Not His First Choice"

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own them.

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He knows he's not her usual type.

She likes intellectual guys, the kind of guy who's more at home in a classroom than a barroom, the kind of guy who would rather go to an art gallery or a lecture than a hockey game.

He's not that type of guy.

_He's never felt so out of place. He sips from the glass of wine in his hand and wishes it were a beer. Across the room, Bones is having an animated conversation about the painting in front of her._

_He's pretty sure Parker painted something similar when he was in kindergarten._

He'll never know what she saw in Peter. Hell, the word through the grapevine – by which he means Angela, of course – was that they were practically living together. Bones deserves way more than a wuss who trips over his own shoelaces.

Then there was Michael, the ex who slept with her and then betrayed her. And David, who was trying to recruit her to a cult Over the years they worked together, he's watched as a parade of smart, successful men entered his partner's life then disappeared, leaving her hurt and alone.

_The guy she's talking too seems enthralled by whatever she's saying. Maybe he's just enthralled by her. God knows he can relate to that._

The thing is, he knows she deserves more than he can offer her. He was an abused child. He's been to war. He's taken lives. He has a son he doesn't get to see often enough.

When they first met, he didn't understand half the things she said. He's learned a lot from her – now he understands at least two-thirds – but he'll never be her intellectual equal.

_Their eyes meet over the shoulder of the guy she's talking to and she smiles in invitation. He nods in response, abandons his wine glass on a passing waiter's tray, and weaves his way through the crowd._

The first time he saw her, he felt a shift inside himself – a sense of a missing puzzle piece snapping into place. He felt complete in a way he never had before.

In the years that followed, he tried to believe he'd imagined it. They were too different, and they had too much at stake. They both dated other people and denied they'd ever considered dating each other.

_He finally reaches her and his hand finds its home on the small of her back. "Booth", she says, "I'd like you to meet Steven. Steven, this is my partner, Booth." It's the first time she's said it and not meant it in a strictly professional way._

Now, though, they're spending most of their time together. They're expecting a child. They're talking about living together.

They never were ones to do things the usual way.

_She smiles up at him – the open, loving smile he's only started seeing recently – and he forgets about the bad wine and the incomprehensible art. He holds out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Steven."_

No, he knows he's not her usual type.

But he's starting to think he might be the right type for her.

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Comments? Questions? Suggestions?


	10. Pancakes

**Note: **This is a companion piece to "Singing".

**Disclaimer: **We all know I don't own them.

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He's making her pancakes.

She's getting used to the way he hovers, making sure she's comfortable and keeping her fed. At first, it felt almost stifling – it had been a long time since anyone worried about her – but she knows it's how he shows he cares. She can picture him now, in his boxer shorts and that ridiculous "Kiss the Cook" apron.

She turns the water temperature up a little higher and steps into the steamy shower. The shower is so small that she can't extend either arm without hitting the outdated tile on the wall. Unlike the large, luxurious shower in her apartment, there is only one shower head and the water pressure is mediocre at best.

Of course, if she were at home, no one would be making her breakfast.

She lathers Booth's shampoo into her wet hair and winces as she hits her elbow on the glass door.

He wants to spend the day at the zoo. He says it will be fun. She supposes it will – pretty much anything she does with him is fun, if she excludes human remains, criminals, and religion. Now that she thinks about it, though, she supposes they have had some good times that involved dead bodies.

She's always lived a rather solitary life. She's used to spending her Saturdays at the gym or writing or catching up on the piles of work that she never seems to get through during the week. She's not used to having someone make her pancakes or suggest she spend a summer Saturday at the zoo. If you'd asked her before she and Booth started their sexual relationship, she would have thought she'd need more time alone. She's surprised how content she is to spend her nights watching the movies he wants to share with her or working at his kitchen table while he yells at some sort of quasi-tribal sporting event on the television.

She rinses the shampoo from her hair and turns off the shower, making another mental note to pick up some conditioner. Somehow, she never remembers that he doesn't use it until she's already in the shower.

She likes knowing the little things about him – that he sulks a little when his favourite team loses, or that he is extremely neat but considers "in the general vicinity of the hamper" close enough when it comes to socks, or that he makes sure he calls his son just before bedtime every night.

She likes knowing that she's important to him – that he'll worry if she's late getting home, that he brings her a cup of tea when she's too queasy for anything else, that he spent an evening fixing her closet door even though she could have called the super.

She smooths the lotion over her calf and notices it's becoming more difficult to bend over. Her body is changing, accommodating the child she is carrying.

She's excited about having a child with Booth. He is an excellent father, and together they have the financial and emotional resources to provide an exemplary home. If she's being honest with herself, though, she's also a little nervous. Not about childbirth – women's bodies are exceptionally well-designed for the birthing process – but of the days that come after. She can master the physical tasks for parenthood – feeding the baby, changing diapers – but how will she handle the emotional tasks? What if the baby doesn't like her? Will her child be as socially awkward as she is? How will she deal with her child's peer group, whose parents will likely either be intimidated by her celebrity or repulsed by her job? Will she feel trapped in D.C.?

Will the love she already feels for the child be enough?

She towel dries her hair as she walks into the bedroom. There's no point in getting dressed quite yet – somehow, they rarely make it through a meal fully dressed – so she pulls on Booth's t-shirt and steps over the circle of discarded socks to hang the damp towel over the edge of the laundry hamper. The floor is cool, so she pulls on the ridiculous bunny slippers Angela bought for her for Christmas. For some reason, Booth loves them. He says she looks cute in them.

No one has ever called her cute before.

Well, perhaps when she was a child. Children are generally considered cute. It's a survival mechanism. She must have been cute as well.

She feels the fetus kick and takes a calming breath. She is a best-selling author, a world-renowned scientist. She does not give up in the face of adversity. She will learn to an impressive parent.

She walks into the kitchen and his eyes light up. She's starting to get used to the way he looks at her, his metaphorical heart in his eyes.

He hasn't said so yet, but he loves her. She hasn't said it out loud, but she loves him, too. Booth will help her figure out how to raise this child.

They're in this together.

After all, they're partners.

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Anyone still there?


	11. Too Close For Comfort

**Note: **Thanks to everyone who took the time to reassure me that they're still reading.

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own them.

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He woke to a throbbing pain in his shoulder. It was still dark, the only light the glow of the alarm clock that read 3:27.

The other side of the bed was cold, the blankets bunched up as if someone had left in an hurry. The painkillers he'd been given must have been pretty good if he'd slept through the cries of a hungry baby.

It was quiet now, though. He rolled to the side of the bed, groaning as his cracked ribs protested and his torn muscles screamed.

He made his way to the nursery, stopping to lean against the wall more than once. When he finally got there, he saw his partner in the rocking chair, the sleeping baby in her arms. He limped into the room and sank gratefully down on the floor, his back resting against one of the legs of the crib. "Hey, Bones."

When she looked up, he could see the redness of her eyes. "Hi, Booth."

He gestured at the sleeping child in her arms. "She giving you problems?"

She shook her head, looking wistfully at the sleeping child in her arms. "No." She took a shuddering breath. "She finished eating a while ago. I just … I don't want to put her down."

"Yeah", he agreed. They sat in silence for a while until he said, "You know Bones, I was pretty scared today."

Blue eyes met brown. "I thought we were going to die." She looked down at her daughter. "I thought she was going to be all alone. I mean, I know Angela and Hodgins would take care of her and love her, but ..." She stopped talking and wiped away a tear that had fallen onto the baby's face.

"We didn't die", he said inadequately.

"We should have", she answered. "If backup had been a minute later, she would be an orphan."

"I know.", he quietly replied.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the baby breathe, watching her stretch and kick in her sleep. Finally, Booth struggled to his feet. "Come on, Bones, she's going to be awake in a couple of hours and we need to get some sleep."

Brennan nodded and rose. She looked at the crib, then at him. "She can sleep with us. Just for tonight."

He wrapped his arm around her. "OK, Bones."

The three of them walked slowly back to the master bedroom and Booth climbed gingerly into bed. When he was settled, he grinned at Brennan and waggled his eyebrows. "Come to bed, Bones."

She laughed and placed the baby on the bed, climbing in after her. When they were comfortable and warm, she propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him. "I don't think I should go into the field anymore, Booth."

His breath hissed through his teeth and his head flopped back onto the pillow. "I don't think you should, either." He turned his head and met her eyes. "You know I have to."

She nodded solemnly. "I know. I feel like … like I want you to promise that you'll come home." She laughed hollowly. "I know you can't promise, but I … I'll worry about you."

She rolled over and picked up the bottle of painkillers on her nightstand. She shook two of them out into her hand and passed them to him along with a bottle of water.

"It might not be my choice, Bones.", he agreed as he popped the pills into his mouth, "but I can promise that if I have a choice, I'll always come home to you."

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Thoughts?


	12. Moving On

**Note: **This one takes place after The Hole in the Heart and quickly goes AU. It's not a terribly happy story, either. In fact, it doesn't even end happily (although at this point, I'm just happy it ended – it's much longer than the recent chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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He thought she'd understand.

After all, Vincent had just been killed. They were sad and angry, mourning his loss and fearful of what the new day would bring.

They'd overreacted.

Yes, they'd had sex, but they weren't really ready. _He_ wasn't ready.

He didn't want to hurt her, really he didn't, but he couldn't take that step. He'd dreamed about being with her, but the cost of failure would be more than he could afford. He wanted it – he wanted _her_ – but he wasn't quite ready to be the person he'd need to be. He _would_ be, but not yet – not so close to proposing to another woman.

It made sense in his head, but somehow when he started trying to explain it to her, he'd stumbled and stammered over the words, immediately aware that he was saying it all wrong.

By the time she raised her chin and said, "I understand, Booth. We behaved rashly. I'll see you next week.", he was pretty sure he couldn't have messed it up any worse.

As she turned away, he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes and wanted to comfort her – to tell her it wasn't her fault, to reassure her that he wasn't going anywhere, to say he'd change his mind if she just wouldn't cry – but he couldn't form the words and she walked away.

He kicked himself every mile of the solitary drive home, and all through the lonely evening. When he finally fell asleep on the couch – still covered with the sheet she had carefully laid out the night before – his dreams were strange and disturbing.

**BbB**

She was ready. She'd been ready for a long time.

She'd thought he was ready, too. Over the past months, they'd moved closer together. They'd both admitted that they'd considered the possibility of a real relationship, and she'd started to think it would really happen.

When he'd asked her to give them a try all those months ago, she'd said no. It wasn't that she didn't want him, but she was afraid – afraid she'd hurt him and afraid she'd hurt herself.

She'd woken in his arms the morning after Vincent died, determined not to waste another day. She'd kissed him, and when he kissed her back, she knew - it was time, and he was worth the risk.

At least, she'd thought he was.

They watched the hearse with Vincent's casket drive away and then they joined their friends for a commemorative drink in the lounge. When the group started to disperse, she asked him to come home with her. It had been a long, hard day, and she didn't want to be alone. She wanted to spend another night in his arms.

When he started stammering excuses, she realized she was mistaken.

He didn't want her.

She had her pride, so she fought back the tears and told him she was fine. She walked out of the lab with her head held high, and didn't collapse in tears until she was safely in the driver's seat of her car.

He used to be the one who held her when she cried.

**BbB**

The aftermath of his disastrous attempt to explain made him feel about two inches tall. A very pregnant Angela glared at him every time he set foot in the lab, Bones spouted scientific crap without meeting his eyes, and Sweets looked like someone had taken his favourite stuffed animal away.

Cam was still his friend, but this was one of those times when their longstanding friendship was as much a curse as a blessing. Only a friend who had known him for years could have called him a jackass in such an affectionate tone of voice.

No one seemed to understand that this wasn't what he wanted, either.

It didn't help that even he wasn't sure _what _he wanted.

**BbB**

Things went back to normal – or at least to the routine that had passed for normal when he was telling himself that he was in love with someone else. She spent more time in the lab, he spent more time in his office, and they both spent more time communicating via e-mail than usual.

They weren't exactly _friends_, but she'd had one-night stands before. Friendship wasn't the usual outcome.

She missed him. She missed watching him drink his coffee too fast, she missed those frivolous socks, she missed knowing that someone cared whether she was safe and happy.

It took her weeks to realize she'd missed her period as well.

**BbB**

A funny side effect of having a partner who avoided looking at him was that he could finally indulge himself by looking at her as much as he wanted.

He watched her as she examined the bones on her table and wondered if she was taking care of herself. It's not like she didn't have a history of losing herself in her work when she was upset.

She looked tired.

He wished he could say something, but every time he tried to bring up anything of a personal nature, she froze him out.

They used to be friends, but their misguided attempt to find comfort in each other's arms had made their friendship just another one of Broadsky's victims.

He missed her. He missed only understanding every second word she said, he missed "I don't know what that means", and seeing the vulnerable side of her that no one else got to see.

But they were broken, and all the missing in the world couldn't fix that.

**BbB**

By the time she walked into the doctor's office, she already knew what the result would be. Before she met Booth, her decision would have been easy, but as the doctor confirmed what she already knew, all she could think was _Booth's baby. _

She'd considered the idea of having Booth's child before. It was a pleasant thought. Their complementary traits should create an exceptional child.

Of course, having Booth's child meant years of dealing with Booth – awkward interactions while dropping off their child, trying to navigate their different values to provide their child with consistent rules while minimizing contact with each other, having to watch him sling his arm around his latest girlfriend.

She'd always considered herself exceptionally strong, but she wasn't sure she was strong enough to do that.

Maybe it was time to move on. Her skills were in demand, and if she could find another position soon, she'd have six months or more before she needed to go on maternity leave. She could build a life somewhere else.

She'd just have to break Booth's heart to do it.

**BbB**

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, Rebecca had agreed to let him take Parker for the Memorial Day long weekend, and Bones had called and asked him to meet her for lunch at the diner. After weeks of awkwardness and tension, maybe they could finally get back on track.

He tossed his keys in his hand as he weaved his way through the bullpen, nodding to Charlie and dodging that gossip Michelson. He didn't have time for his nonsense.

He had a lunch date.

**BbB**

Their usual table was free, but she chose one away from the window where they wouldn't be readily visible.

She stacked the papers neatly beside her and took a sip of her water. He'd be there soon, and she had to be ready.

**BbB**

It took him a minute to find her, tucked away at a corner in the back. He bounded over to the table and said, "Hey, Bones, it's good to see you."

She looked nervous and tired, and for the first time he started to worry. He'd thought she'd invited him to lunch to work through their differences, but the stack of papers on the table beside her made it look like this wasn't going to be a casual lunch between friends.

What was going on?

**BbB**

It had been months since she'd let herself look at him, but sitting across a small table from him while they ate their lunch made it impossible to look anywhere else.

They talked, stiltedly at first, then more fluidly as they relaxed into their old patterns, and she found herself trying to record the moment, to store it up for the days to come when she wouldn't be able to see his face or hear his voice.

When they were done eating, he pushed his place away and nodded towards the papers on the table. "What's that, Bones?"

She reached over and picked up the top paper. Unfolding it, she handed it to him.

He scanned it quickly and looked up at her. "Chicago. Are … are you going to take the job?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm going to tell Cam this afternoon."

She had expected a protest, a plea to stay, but he met her eyes and said, "Thank you for telling me in person. I hope you're happy in Chicago." He pushed back his chair and stood to go.

"There's more", she said.

He laughed harshly. "What else could there possibly be, Bones? You're ending our partnership and moving to Chicago. What's left?"

"I'm pregnant."

For a second she was afraid he'd walk out, but he stopped and collapsed into the chair as if his legs would no longer hold him.

"Pregnant."

It was a statement and didn't require a reply, but she found herself explaining, "Yes. You're the father."

She saw the muscles in his jaw clench the way they did when he was angry, and she continued, "I talked with my lawyer. She's drawn up papers that will give you full custody of the child on holidays – summer, Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving. I'll have custody the rest of the time." She handed him the stack of papers while he stared at her in stunned silence. "I didn't want you to have to worry about me keeping our child from you. I think this is a fair arrangement, but you should talk with a lawyer as well."

"Every holiday." At his words, she looked up at him. "I would have the kid on every holiday."

She nodded. "Yes."

"What will you do then, Bones?"

She shrugged. "I'll work. There are digs and projects going on all over the world, and I can participate during Christmas and the summer. Otherwise, I'm sure I'll have enough going on at work to keep me busy."

He stared at her. "You'll work."

"Yes", she answered, "That's what I do. Besides, I know how much you hate it when you don't get Parker for the holidays. This way you won't have to worry about that with our child."

"Don't you want to spend holidays with her?"

"We don't know it's a girl."

"Girl, boy, don't you want to watch your child open presents on Christmas morning? Don't you want to spend the day with him at the beach?"

She shrugged. "I've never really understood your enthusiasm for holidays."

He leaned back in his chair and groaned. "This is kind of a lot all at once, Bones."

She set some money on the table and picked up her bag. "I understand. You should take some time to think about it and consult a lawyer. We can talk again before I leave."

**BbB**

He went back to work, only to find himself staring a his computer without any idea of what he was supposed to be doing.

_A baby._

_Bones was leaving._

It didn't seem right that those two ideas could exist at the same time. How could a world in which he was going to be a father again be the same world in which Bones was taking his child away?

After a couple of hours, he gave up on work and left early.

**BbB**

Angela was on maternity leave, so giving her notice was much less dramatic than it might have been. Of course, Cam wasn't happy – she wouldn't be easy to replace – but her mind was made up, and they parted amicably.

She was glad that the next few weeks would be busy – writing evaluations for her students, packing her office, packing her apartment. There would be less time to think, to wish things were different.

She'd learned a long time ago that wishing didn't change anything.

**BbB**

By the time Cam walked in, he was in no shape to drive. Wordlessly, she swung onto the stool beside him and nodded to the bartender.

They sat in silence for a while, until she finally said, "It looks like you're having the same kind of day I am."

He laughed bitterly. "Worse. Much worse."

She raised an eyebrow. "My most famous employee – the one whose prestige gets the Jeffersonian at least 25% of its donations – handed in her resignation today."

"Yeah?", he said, "The woman I've been in love with for years told me she's moving to Chicago. Oh, and by the way, she's pregnant with my child."

Cam's glass thudded onto the bar. "You win."

"Right", he answered, "I wish."

**BbB**

She got back from a tearful visit with Angela and looked around her apartment with new eyes. How many boxes would it take to pack everything she'd want to bring with her?

How much should she give away before she moved?

A lot had happened since she'd moved in, excited and nervous about her new position at the Jeffersonian.

She had put down roots, made friends, built a life, and fallen in love while living there. Now she had to uproot herself and start over somewhere else.

It was an exhausting thought.

**BbB**

His head felt fuzzy.

He tentatively opened his eyes and was relieved to find himself in his mercifully dark bedroom. He fumbled for his cell phone, wincing at the brightness of the screen, and was surprised to find that it was only 9:30.

At least it was Saturday and there was nowhere he had to be.

He heard a clattering in the kitchen, his first hint that he wasn't alone. He rolled out of bed, groaning as the fuzziness gave way to a throbbing pain, and slowly made his way into the hall.

"Hey", Cam said, "I hope you don't mind, I made myself at home."

He squinted at her, confused. "Why … what are you doing here?"

She regarded him seriously. "I was worried about you. You weren't in any shape to be left alone last night."

He slid into a chair and rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. "What am I going to do, Cam?"

She set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him. "You're going to eat. You're going to shower. And then you're going to fix this."

He picked up a fork and stared at the eggs. "I'm not sure I can."

**BbB**

It was hard to say goodbye to her friends, but harder to say goodbye to the the lab itself. She heard people talking about an upcoming seminar at the lab and felt a pang when she realized that she wouldn't be there.

For years, the Jeffersonian had been her home, her refuge, the place where she went when she didn't where to go.

Soon, someone else would be assigned her parking spot. She'd turn in her badge, and if she wanted to visit, she'd have to sign in as a guest. Her child wouldn't spend her days in the Jeffersonian daycare, or attend the science club after school.

The lab would go on without her.

Somehow, she'd have to find a way to go on without it.

**BbB**

It took him a week. He moped, he whined, and he considered his choices. When he was ready, they met at the diner again.

This time, he brought up the subject that was on both of their minds. He set the stack of papers on the table and asked, "Is this really what you want?"

"Is there a problem?"

He leaned towards her. "Of course there's a problem, Bones. Did you really think I'd be OK with you leaving?"

She'd expected this. "I know you'd like to be closer to the baby, but this is a good opportunity, and I need a change. If you don't think the custody arrangement is fair, we can talk about other options."

"OK", he agreed, "Let's talk about other options. How about you stay here and we raise our kid together?"

"I can't."

"Sure you can. Just tell Cam you want to stay. She hasn't found a replacement."

"I can't, Booth. I'm tired of being scared. I'm tired of being sad. You once told me that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome. I need a different outcome, so I'm going to do something different." She gestured at the papers on the table. "Did you talk with a lawyer?"

"No."

She picked up her bag and stood. "You need to talk with a lawyer, Booth."

He looked up at her. "This is really what you want?"

She nodded solemnly. "Yes."

"You'll be happier in Chicago than you would be here?"

"I hope so."

"Can I borrow your pen?"

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Feel free to tell me how mean I am.


	13. What's Going On

**Note: **Thanks to everyone who reassured me that I wasn't mean. :) This one is happier.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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No one has ever accused me of being an angel. I've lied, I've stolen, I've killed. I don't make excuses for it. I've done what I had to do.

That doesn't mean I don't love my kids.

My son went through a bad time there for a while – he got into some trouble with the law – but that's behind him. He's settled down with a great woman and her two amazing kids. They seem to like me. Kids usually do.

When my kids were small, I was busy – busy with work, busy with my marriage, busy trying to make sure that no one would take the life we lived away from us. Now that I'm older, I appreciate the little things – reading a story to my son's girls, Sunday dinner with the family, a place to go where they won't turn me away. My son needs me in his life, and I need him in mine.

My daughter is another story. I didn't talk to her for a few years, and during that time, she got a truckload of degrees in disciplines I can't even pronounce, became a world-renowned forensic anthropologist, and wrote a best-selling novel.

She doesn't need me.

Of course, everybody needs somebody, and for her, that person is her "partner", Booth. Booth is a good man – for an FBI agent – and he looks after Tempe.

At least, he used to look after her. Something happened about a year and a half ago. I don't know what it was, but he fled to Afghanistan and she hid in the Maluku Islands.

I'm smart enough not to ask what scared them so much.

Up until then, I'd thought they'd end up together. I wasn't sure whether Tempe had accepted it – she's always claimed she was best alone – but I thought Booth thought they'd be together, too. I mean, why else would he let me escape or help Tempe frame herself for murder? If it hadn't been for him, I don't think Tempe would have had anything to do with me. I'd watch the two of them together and start thinking of experiments I'd get to share with the grand-kids I was sure they'd give me.

When they took off, I knew that their separation was a make-or-break event for them – either they'd come back and start working on those grand-kids, or they'd stop working together and move on. My money was on the grand-kids.

I was wrong on both counts. They came back and went back to work, just like always, except … it wasn't like always. Things were strained between them. Holman over at the Jeffersonian said they hadn't seen Booth in weeks. I checked with Eva at the diner, and she said they still came in, but that some blonde Booth was claimed to be in love with was there with them a lot of the time.

Tempe wouldn't talk about it – she just said he was happy – but that had to hurt.

I started to believe that it would never happen, that maybe the mistakes I made meant that my little girl _would _be alone her whole life.

And then Booth broke up with the blonde and things changed again. I started to hear about late nights at work and early morning breakfasts. When I'd go over to Tempe's for dinner, Booth would be there – not as often as a couple of years ago, but more often than he had been since they got back from their trips.

I knew better than to ask too many questions. Besides, I have … other sources when I want to know what's going on with those two.

Tempe seemed content, so I didn't see a need to get involved, anyway.

And then things changed again. This last case of theirs was investigating the murder of one of the guys on my bowling team.

I swear I had nothing to do with it.

Anyway, I got to spend time with both of them, and things were … weird. I mean, they've never been _normal_, but this was odd even for them. They were _nice _to each other.

They're never nice. I mean, sure, I know they'd die for each other, but they're not _polite_ to each other_._

It was weird, and if I've learned one thing, it's that when people start acting weird, you'd better pay attention.

I paid attention.

I'm pretty good at reading people – in my line of work, you have to be – but I couldn't quite get a handle on those two. Something had changed, but I wasn't sure what it was.

For a while, I thought they'd had a fight. Yes, they denied it, but they'd spent the last I-don't-even-know-how-many years denying that they were in love. Ever hear of the boy who cried wolf? Besides, they do tend to close ranks when an outsider like me starts asking questions.

But then … I don't know what it was exactly, but I started to wonder if things had changed in a different way. I even started to wonder if maybe ….

That couldn't be it, though. I mean, if they were sleeping together, why did Tempe keep looking worried whenever he wasn't looking at her? She likes being undercover, and she'd relax when she was doing her Wanda act, but whenever no one was looking at her, she start thinking about whatever was bothering her and look tense enough to snap.

Sometimes she thinks too much.

She said everything was fine, but I knew my daughter, and she was not fine.

Was the blonde back? Could she be freaked out because she slept with Booth? Was the sex bad?

There was _something _going on, something she wasn't willing to share with me.

When I realized I wasn't going to get anything else out of her, I went to the next best source – Booth. He just smiled and told me everything was fine.

That didn't explain why Tempe was so worried. Whatever it was that had her so concerned, Booth didn't know about it.

Was she _sick_?

If she were sick, she'd tell Booth, wouldn't she?

If she hadn't told him, there wasn't much of a chance that anyone else knew. I considered badgering her for answers, but even as a child, she wouldn't share what was going on in her head until she was ready.

That left two choices: snooping around to see what I could find out or waiting for her to tell me.

I've never been good at waiting.

That evening, I casually stopped by Tempe's apartment. The case was wrapped up and she and Booth had taken off to visit her artist friend in the hospital. I wanted to take advantage of their absence to do a little digging. I'd go in, take a look around, and see what I could find. It's surprising the kinds of things that people leave just lying around.

I started with the living room. Anthropology journals on the coffee table, two empty coffee cups sitting on coasters, and a note pad on the end table with a phone number jotted down, alongside the notation "Tuesday 8:15".

Interesting.

I dialed the number, waiting impatiently while it rang, and hung up when I heard, "Dr. Mather's office, can I help you?"

Maybe she really was sick.

I finished in the living room and moved on to the kitchen. Finding nothing of interest, I walked down the hall and took a quick look in the bedroom. No answers there, but a few hints - condom wrappers in the trash can, a red and orange tie peeking out from under the bed, and a fancy comic book on the nightstand.

Hmm.

I continued down the hall to the bathroom. The trash was empty, there were two toothbrushes in the toothbrush holder in the medicine cabinet, and at the back, hidden behind some hairspray and a bottle of makeup remover, there was a bottle of prenatal vitamins.

That explained the doctor … and the anxiety.

I closed the medicine cabinet and made my way out of the apartment, making sure everything was as I'd found it and locking the door behind me.

I ducked into the stairwell and made my way down to the lobby. The exit door had one of those little security-glass windows, so I scanned the lobby before I opened the door. It's a good thing I did, too, because there they were, my daughter and her partner, grins on their faces and their arms around each other as they walked toward the elevator.

Like I said, Booth is a good man.

Whistling, I made my way out to my car. I had to get home.

I had a grand-kid to prepare for.

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Thoughts?


	14. Too Late

**Note: **Another one that didn't want to end. Sigh.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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The seat belt sign turned off and she was on her feet, her carry-on luggage in her hand, shifting impatiently in front of the exit. As soon as the door opened, she was running up the jetway, ducking around the crowds as she made her way to the taxi stand.

The late night meant there was little traffic, and the extravagant tip she promised meant that there were few delays on the way to the hospital.

The taxi pulled to a stop and she tossed the wad of bills at the driver, already on her way though the sliding doors.

When she reached the room, she stopped and took a deep breath. When she felt in control of her emotions, she pushed open the door and walked in.

Her daughter was on the bed, her skin almost as pale as the bandages. The thud of her tossing her bag into the corner caused the man sitting beside the bed to look up. "Hey, Bones", he said, his face drawn.

She took a step towards the bed and he stood, pulling her into a hug. "I'm glad you made it."

She searched his face, trying to read the latest news, and he continued, "The doctors … they're the best, Bones, but there's so much they don't know about head injuries. She could wake up in a minute, or she might never wake up at all."

He gestured at the chair he'd just vacated. "Why don't you sit with her? I'll go get us some coffee."

"No", she replied, "You look tired. Why don't you go home and get some rest. I'll stay with her."

"Are you sure?", he asked.

Wordlessly, she nodded. She took off her coat and tossed it on top of her bag, then took the seat he had offered.

It had been three years – three years when she could have hugged her daughter, combed her hair, or listened as she talked about school or boys or sports. Instead, she had run, spending her time with the dead and ignoring her child, only to return when it was too late to do more than sit by her side.

Tentatively, she reached out and touched her daughter's hand. The skin was warmer than she'd expected, and she curled her fingers around until she could feel her child's reassuring, steady pulse.

It hurt to breathe.

She rested her head on the bed, her thumb idly stroking her daughter's hand, and concentrated on making her breaths steady and even. Soon, she was dozing.

She woke when the nurse came in, and took advantage of the opportunity to find a bathroom and freshen up. She stopped at a vending machine for coffee that was mediocre at best and then walked back to the room.

Her daughter had another visitor, a young man who greeted her with a smile. "Bones!"

"Parker", she answered, "How are you doing?"

He hugged her, careful not to spill the coffee. "Just wanted to see the kid before work. Any change?"

She shook her head. "No."

He leaned back and their eyes met. "She'll pull through."

She laughed, hating the sob that she couldn't prevent. "You don't know that."

"She'll be fine, Bones."

Her eyes shifted to the still figure in the bed. "I should have been here."

He turned, shifting so that his arm was around her shoulder and squeezing her to his side. "You couldn't have stopped it. And she's very proud of her world-famous mother. Whenever she got one of your letters or those books you'd send, she'd chatter about it for weeks."

"I've missed so much", she said softly.

"You'll have another chance", he answered, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. He looked at his watch. "I've gotta go, Bones. I'll see you soon."

Parker left and she resumed her vigil. It wasn't long before Booth walked through the door, a bag in one hand and a carrier with two cups of coffee in the other. He set them on the over-bed table and adjusted the height. Pulling over the other chair, he sat facing Brennan and pulled breakfast sandwiches from the bag, handing one to her and unwrapping the other.

She took a sip of the coffee. "Thank you."

He grinned. "I've tasted the stuff they call coffee here. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

She set down the coffee and forced herself to meet his eyes. "Am I your worst enemy?"

"No, Bones. I like to think we're not enemies at all."

She turned her attention to unwrapping her sandwich and taking a bite, using the time to consider what she wanted to say. Finally, she looked up and met his gaze. "I hurt you. I'm sorry."

He nodded. "I know. I've never stopped being sorry for hurting you."

She looked at the silent girl in the bed. "I hurt her, too."

He sighed and leaned back. "You did, Bones, but she knows you love her. You should see how she looks forward to your phone calls, and how she brags to her friends about her amazing mother. She'll forgive you."

She set down her sandwich, a lump in her throat. "She might not get that chance."

"She will, Bones." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. "Here. Go back to the house, get some sleep. I'll call you the second anything happens."

**BbB**

She stopped at the diner, surprised at how it seemed both familiar and strange at the same time, and picked up take-out to bring back to the hospital. There was a priest in the room, leading a prayer she'd never heard. It was obviously familiar to Booth, and she hoped the ritual would bring him comfort.

When they finished, she walked in. The priest said, "I'm praying for you and your daughter." She didn't believe in prayer or God, but she still felt a sense of calm when he clasped her hand in his.

When he left, she pulled out the bag of food and grinned at Booth's amazed delight. They chatted as they ate, and she listened avidly as he described fights over homework and housework, afternoons at the movies and video game battles on Friday nights. In turn, she shared stories of her travels – the scorpions who made their homes in her shoes, the locals who resented the foreigners stopping a major construction project, the blizzard that isolated the camp for two weeks.

Parker stopped by again, and he perched on the foot of the bed as she caught up on his life since graduating from college – the new job, the recent break-up, his first roommate-free apartment.

They laughed and cried, happy to see each other despite the devastating circumstances.

As the conversation reached a natural lull, Parker glanced at his sister and beamed as he noticed her open eyes. "Glad you could join us, squirt."

Her nose wrinkled the way it always did at the pet name and the room erupted as everyone started talking at once, pushing their way to the bed to hug her. They waited impatiently in the hall as the on-call doctor examined her, then crowded back into the room.

They talked and laughed for an hour, until her eyes started to drift shut. Parker made his excuses and headed home, and, after a short discussion, Booth left as well, leaving Brennan at her daughter's side.

"You don't have to stay, Mom."

Brennan sat up in her chair. "I'd like to stay. Would you prefer that I go?"

"No", she answered, "It's OK." Seconds later, she was asleep.

Brennan relaxed again, leaning against the bed and holding her daughter's hand. "I'm not going anywhere", she said softly.

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I've noticed I get more reviews when I'm mean. Just saying.


	15. Easter

**Note: **The baby has an official name. That makes writing these _so much_ _easier_. You have no idea.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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Booth pushed open the bedroom door and peered at the groggy woman on the bed. "Look, Christine, Mommy's awake. Soon she'll get up and we can look for what the Easter bunny left you."

Brennan's eyes opened a crack. "You bought her chocolate? She's only a week old."

Booth curled his hand around to block the baby's ears. "No, Bones, the _Easter bunny_ brought her chocolate."

Brennan sighed and pushed back the covers. "The very idea of a rabbit hopping around giving children chocolate eggs is ridiculous. Rabbits are mammals. They don't even _lay_ eggs, let alone chocolate eggs."

She stood and pulled on her robe.

"See?", Booth continued, "Mommy's getting up, and we're going to find the stuff the Easter bunny brought you, then me and you are going to pick up Parker and the three of us are going to go to church, and ..."

"Do you really want to take her to church?", Brennan interrupted.

"Of course", Booth answered, "Mrs. Malinowski and Mrs. Healy want to see her. She has to go."

Brennan shrugged. "OK."

"And then", Booth continued, "we'll come back to get Mommy and we're all going to Grandpa Max's place for Easter dinner. You're lucky, you can't eat Grandpa Max's cooking yet."

"He promised to order in", Brennan interjected. "I sent him the delivery menus of three very well-respected local restaurants."

They walked into the living room to see an enormous basket on the coffee table. It was filled with jelly beans, chocolate eggs, and four large chocolate bunnies.

"Look, Christine! Look what the Easter bunny left you", Booth said, uncaring that the baby ignored the glittery basket in favour of kicking her feet.

"Please tell me this is everything", Brennan said.

Booth grinned. "This is it. The Easter bunny probably knew she wouldn't want to search for too long." He used his free hand to pick up a chocolate bunny. He handed it to Brennan and picked up another one for himself. "And it was considerate of him to bring a bunny for each of us." He used his teeth to rip off the foil and took a huge bite of the feet.

Brennan carefully unwrapped the ears of her bunny and took a bite. "This is good chocolate.", she commented.

"Bones!", Booth exclaimed, "You can't eat the ears first!"

She looked at him, puzzled. "Why not?"

"You have to eat the feet first so it doesn't get away before you eat the rest."

Brennan looked down at the chocolate in her hands. "You want me to eat the feet so that my _chocolate rabbit_ doesn't run away?"

"Hop."

"What?"

"Rabbits _hop_, Bones. You're a scientist, you should know that."

Brennan shook her head and took a big bite of the head. "There", she said, "Without a head he can't hop away."

Booth stared in disbelief as she grinned and set down the chocolate. Holding out her arms, she said, "Come on, Christine, you'd better eat if you're going to go to church with your father."

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Happy Easter to those who celebrate it.


	16. Waiting for Booth

**Note: **I have a really annoying cold, which means that I typed most of this with my eyes closed. Expect even more typos than usual.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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She's been here before.

Not literally, of course. She's never before had the need to visit a hospital in Portland, but the institutional green walls, the lukewarm, burnt-tasting coffee, the bored and hurt inhabitants of the waiting room? Those are familiar to her.

Right now, she should be on a plane, sipping a glass of wine and winging her way back to her daughter. She should be relaxing in the comfort of first class, trying to catch up on her reading while Booth makes uncomfortable jokes about their fellow first-class passengers, instead of trying to find a comfortable position in the hard plastic chair.

The last time something like this happened, she was in D.C., surrounded by friends. At the time, it felt like they were smothering her, pressuring her to have the answers, to reassure them that Booth would be okay.

This time, she'd give anything not to be alone.

She's scared.

She knows the surgery is necessary – the bullet got far too close to some vital organs – but the blood loss left him weak before they ever started operating, and Booth has never reacted well to anesthetic.

After the shooting, the world dissolved in a flurry of sirens and shouts, cops and paramedics. She wonders idly what became of the rental car. Without the rental car – and her suitcase, presumably still tucked safely in the trunk – she has no choice but to remain in her blood-stained clothes.

She wonders if she'd feel better if she weren't covered in Booth's blood.

She takes another sip of coffee – now totally cold – and wishes that she believed in Booth's god. Surely faith in a benevolent deity would be comforting as she waits to find out whether she will have to spend the rest of her life without Booth.

She's always scoffed at the idea of someone dying of a broken heart, but when she imagines living in their house without him, it doesn't seem so far fetched.

She's thought she'd have to live without him before – when the FBI faked his death, when he didn't wake up from brain surgery, when he asked another woman to share his life – but the stakes are higher now.

Besides, it's not like she dealt with any of those situations particularly well.

Her phone beeps, and she smiles at the picture of Christine and Michael, asleep in a pile on the couch. The floor is littered with blocks, and she can see a yellow car still clutched tightly in her daughter's hand.

She wants to go home.

As soon as that thought enters her head, it's chased by another – that it'll only feel like home if Booth is there with her. Without him, their bed, the house, her life, will be too empty.

She stands and walks through the automatic doors, trying to find a quieter location. It's a bright, sunny day, the kind of day on which Booth would bound into her office like a child released from the pressures of formalized learning and insist on dragging her out for ice cream, The thought makes her smile for a second before the image of that Booth, vital and alive, contrasts with her memory of the last time she saw Booth, pale and still, surrounded by medical professionals fighting to save his life.

She finds an appropriate spot – a vantage point that allows her to watch for the doctor, yet out of the main traffic zone – and dials Angela's number. She needs to get out of her own head for a minute, to hear someone tell her that it's going to be OK.

Angela comes through for her, like she always does, and tells her that it's going to be OK, that Booth would never leave her, and she tries to believe the words.

She doesn't quite succeed. Bullets are stronger than willpower, and Angela wasn't there. Angela didn't see the unnatural way Booth crumpled when the bullet hit him. Angela isn't wearing clothes that are stiff with dried blood.

She appreciates the effort, though, and she listens attentively as Angela talks about the children, trying not to wonder how she'll raise their daughter on her own.

When she can't take any more, she makes her excuses and hangs up. Reluctantly, she walks back into the waiting room. As she's about to sit down, she sees Booth's doctor walking towards her. She stops, wishing she were better at reading people, and forces herself to meet the doctor half way.

When the doctor starts by saying, "The surgery was successful", he knees almost buckle, but she forces herself to remain upright. She listens attentively to the doctor's report, asking questions about the prognosis, recovery time, and potential complications.

When she's learned everything she can, she steps outside once more and dials the familiar number.

"Ange?", she says when her friend answers, "He's going to be all right."

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I have a second one ready – the same situation, but Brennan is shot instead of Booth. Anyone interested in reading that?


	17. Waiting for Bones

**Note: **The second update in the last 24 hours - this one is a companion piece to "Waiting for Booth" - an alternate look at what might have happened.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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_This is all his fault_.

He slumps against the wall in the crowded waiting room, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor, his head resting on his bent knees.

It shouldn't have happened like this.

Right now, he should be on a plane, killing the time by making up stories about their fellow passengers and enjoying the way Bones's forehead wrinkles when she thinks he's being frivolous. He should be drinking a beer and stretching out in those first class seats like he's some sort of rich guy.

Hell, he'd even be happy to sit in coach while Bones sits alone in first class.

Anything would be better than the hell he's trapped in, waiting in a dingy hospital while Bones fights for her life. He can't think of anything worse than knowing she might die because she took a bullet meant for him.

He needs to call Hodgins, tell him they won't be making it back tonight, ask him and Angela to look after Christine, but he's afraid to call, afraid that saying it out loud will make it real, afraid that he won't be able to say it at all and will just end up sobbing into the phone.

No, he'll wait until he knows she's going to be okay before he calls. She has to be okay. He's not sure how he'll survive if she's not.

He's done what he needs to do – filled out the insurance paperwork, signed the waiver, told the doctors about her penicillin allergy. Now all he can do is wait and hope.

The nurse at the desk directs him to the chapel and promises to come and get him if there's any news. He kneels in the pew and tries to pray, but he can't seem to form the words. He settles for resting his head on the back of the pew in front of him, his entire being focused on one word – _please_.

After what seems like hours, he stands and makes his way back to the waiting room. The time he's spent in the chapel has left him stiff and sore, and he feels every one of his forty two years.

There have been other times when he's thought he'd have to live without her – when she considered sailing away with his friend, when she took off for the Makapoopoo Islands, when he told her how he felt and she said no – but at least he'd been able to console himself with the thought that she would be somewhere in the world, safe and happy.

He's not sure how to go on living for thirty or forty or fifty years in a world that she's no longer a part of.

If the worst happens – if she dies because of his mistake – he'll have to go back to D.C., live in the house they shared for two short years, and raise their daughter alone. He doesn't know how he'd ever find the strength to do that.

He buys a cup of coffee from a vending machine and settles himself in a vacant chair. On another day, he might enjoy watching and wondering about the individual dramas playing out around him – the 6 or 7 year old boy with his bleeding foot wrapped in a towel, the middle-aged woman waiting with her elderly mother, the teenage girl cradling one arm against her chest. Today, though, there's only one story that interests him.

How long is the surgery going to take, anyway?

They say no news is good news, and he supposes that's true. If something had gone wrong – if she weren't still alive – he'd know by now. He just has to keep breathing, let the doctors do what they need to do.

He'd feel better if there were something he could do, some suspect to track down and intimidate.

When he can't put it off any longer, he steps outside to make the call. Angela answers, and it takes every ounce of his strength to tell her what happened. He feels like he should comfort her, but she ends up comforting him, saying things like "Bren is strong", and "It wasn't your fault", and "You know she loves you, Booth".

He hangs up and steps back into the emergency room - and there she is, Bones's doctor.

He tries to read the expression on her face as he takes a deep breath and walks over to her.

He doesn't really understand everything she says – it's all a jumble after "in recovery" - but he catches "very lucky" and "not out of the woods yet" and "cautiously optimistic".

When she's done talking, she tells him to go get some food. Suddenly, he's starving, and he follows her directions to the cafeteria.

On his way, he passes the chapel, and he feels compelled to go in. Again, he drops to his knees. This time, his prayer is two words.

_Thank you._

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Thoughts?


	18. Keep On Trying

**Note: **So very AU.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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The light in the room had shifted from pitch black to dark gray when he woke. It took him a second to realize that he wasn't alone, to become aware of the brush of her hair against his exposed skin, the light way her hand skimmed over his body.

By the time he realized what was happening, she had maneuvered his shirt over his head and tossed her borrowed sweatshirt to the floor.

He breathed in, smelling the familiar mixture of her shampoo, the lemon-scented lotion she kept on her desk, and the underlying scent that was pure Bones, and managed to say, "Bones? What ..." before she silenced him with her lips.

He couldn't really remember the details of what happened next – it was lost in a blur of sensation – but he was pretty sure he asked, "Bones? Are you sure?" before she threw one leg over his hips and sank down on him.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he came back to reality and realized she was crying.

**BbB**

She hadn't expected it to be this hard.

She'd listened to him talk about "someone for everyone" and "two people becoming one" and somewhere along the way she'd started to believe it.

She'd never thought that adding sex to their relationship would hurt their friendship, but it had. He wanted someone who could make small talk with his friends, someone who was willing to cancel her evening plans to hang out at the diner. She wanted to be who he wanted, so she tried, even though it didn't come naturally.

It didn't take long for her to feel like she was losing herself.

**BbB**

He'd thought it would be easier.

They already spent so much of their time together. He'd expected that when they finally got together, it would be comfortable, like slipping into a pair of jeans that you've worn so often that they're faded in all the right places.

Instead, the time they spent in bed magnified their differences. He wanted lazy Saturday mornings in bed and evenings curled up together on the couch. She had two demanding careers and was used to making plans without consulting anyone.

He'd wanted her for so long. He didn't want to admit that she wasn't what he needed.

**BbB**

They gave it a good try.

They had talked about a relationship, of course, but they'd both thought they'd be able to take it slowly, to wait until they were ready. Neither of them had expected to fall into bed while mourning a loss that hit too close for comfort. They weren't ready to adjust, to make room for a relationship in their lives.

Four weeks after Mr. Nigel-Murray's death, she stared at the bones on her table and found herself distracted. She loved him as much as she was capable of loving anyone, but she felt like their new relationship was smothering her.

That night, they sat on their favourite bench at the reflecting pool and talked. They were honest with each other in a way they hadn't been since he gambled and lost. When they rose, they were no longer lovers, but friends.

**BbB**

Making the transition back to friends and partners wasn't as hard as he'd expected. After all, they had a few short weeks of experience in being in a romantic relationship, and years of experience in keeping their distance.

He loved her, but he was starting to believe that he wasn't _in love_ with her.

Besides, having Bones in his bed was negotiable. Having Bones in his life was not.

**BbB**

She sat in the doctor's office, her stomach in knots, waiting for the doctor to tell her what she already knew.

She was pregnant with Booth's child.

They'd talked about this very possibility years ago, but had let it go. She had been scared to depend on him being involved in their child's life, and he couldn't bear to know he had a fatherless child.

Her mind raced as she walked out into the sunshine, evaluating and discarding possibilities one by one until only one was left.

She had to tell him. They would figure it out together.

**BbB**

_Pregnant_.

Booth shut the door of his vehicle and tipped his head back against the headrest, the word still running through his head. Bones was _pregnant_. He was going to be a father again.

It had all been so clear when he knew Rebecca might be pregnant. They were a couple. He loved her. Marriage was the obvious choice.

This time, it wasn't so clear. Should he ask Bones to marry him? She'd never expressed any interest in marriage, but they'd never expected that she'd get pregnant. Maybe they should try to work through their differences and become a family.

Would it be better for the child for them to share a home and a life?

And if he asked, would she turn him down?

**BbB**

Brennan paid the movers and looked at the stack of boxes surrounding her. As a young adult, she'd become an expert on packing up and moving to a new place. Sometimes, the move was triggered by a new opportunity – a new academic program, a new job, a new internship. Others, it was triggered by a failed relationship or a change of roommates. It had been easy – pack her two suitcases and a couple of boxes and go. That had changed when she got the job at the Jeffersonian. She'd started to settle down, and was surprised to realize that she'd spent six years in her last apartment. She'd grown metaphoric roots, and uprooting herself had been more difficult than expected.

Still, it was the right thing to do. She had fond memories of the house she'd grown up in – lying on the grass in the backyard, riding her bike down the sidewalk, listening to her mother read her a story on the front steps – and she wanted her daughter to have similar memories. The house as a good investment, and its location in the same school zone as Booth's new apartment would be extremely convenient in a few years.

She heard Cam and Angela talking as they unpacked books in what would be her study. She could have joined them, but she wanted to spend a little time alone. Besides, the kitchen was higher priority than the study.

The cleaners had been in yesterday to clean the entire house, but she filled the sink with soapy water and wiped down the inside of the cupboards anyway.

When they were cleaned to her satisfaction, she carefully crouched to lift a box onto a kitchen chair, her movements slowed by the child she carried. Grabbing a utility knife, she sliced through the packing tape and opened the box.

**BbB**

Booth cursed as the screw slipped out of his hand and rolled across the carpet.

"You told me I'm not allowed to say that", his son commented.

Booth stared at him in exasperation. "You're not, Parks", he answered. "It's not a good thing to say."

"You said it."

"And I shouldn't have", he answered. "I was just frustrated. Can you go and get that screw?"

His son scooted across the floor without bothering to stand up and slid the screw towards him. "Here."

Booth lined the screw up with the hole in the bracket and picked up the screwdriver.

"Can I do that?", Parker asked.

Booth nodded. "Sure, bub." Years ago, Pops had taught him the basics of using tools. It was about time he started to share that with his son – one of their few family traditions that had nothing to do with abuse, alcohol, or military service.

As Parker concentrated on turning the screwdriver, he asked, "Dad? Why aren't you and Bones going to live together?"

Booth leaned against the wall and stretched his legs out in front of him. He should have known sooner or later he'd have to explain his whole messed-up life to his son. "I told you, Parker, we've decided we're better off as friends."

Parker kept his gaze on the screw. "But you're having a kid."

"I know, bub. The baby was a surprise. And even though Bones and I love each other, it's the kind of love you feel for a friend, not the kind of love you feel for someone you want to marry, so we're going to keep living in different places. Your sister will spend half her time with me and half with Bones, and sometimes we'll all do something together. You too."

"Dad?", Parker asked as he pushed himself back from the almost fully-assembled crib, "Does Bones's new house have a pool?"

**BbB**

Brennan shifted uncomfortably. Her bed was of top quality, but three days past her due date, nothing was comfortable. She shifted again and looked at the clock. 3:15 was too late to be awake, and too early to get up.

Sighing, she rolled out of bed. She was almost at the door of the bathroom when her water broke.

**BbB**

He felt helpless.

Bones was her usual stoic self, but he could tell she was in pain – so much so that she'd stopped the anthropology lectures about childbirth traditions about 45 minutes ago.

It hurt him to see her hurt, but there was nothing he could do about it short of threatening to shoot the doctor if he didn't break out the good drugs, and Bones would probably yell at him if he did that.

He sat by her side, letting her grip his hand so hard he wondered if he's have visible bruises, and tried to provide her with what comfort he could as she worked to bring their child into the world.

By the time the room was filled with the rusty cries of an irritated newborn, they were both exhausted.

"Booth?", Brennan asked as the delivery room nurses fussed over the baby, "Is she OK?"

Booth leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips. "She's perfect, Bones", he answered. "Thank you."

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I think this is the first one where they're definitely not together – no miscommunication, no "not quite ready yet", just not together and not going to be together. In the other ones where they weren't together, I always felt like the door was still open, but in this one I don't. And now I'm going to go and hide.


	19. Playing Games

**Note: **And now for something happier.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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She woke, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't scared – her night light kept the room from being dark enough to be scary – but something felt … her dad would say "hinky", but her mom would say "unusual" or "strange".

From downstairs, she heard a crash as something fell over.

_Now_ she was scared.

She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She paused then, taking three deliberate, calming breaths like when she did yoga with Auntie Angela. When she was sure she was calm, she slid to the floor and sat down to pull on her slippers.

Her feet protected from the cool floor, she used both hands to turn the door handle. She cracked open the door and poked her head out, looking from side to side like Grandpa showed her, then tiptoed to the top of the stairs.

The loud noises had stopped, and all she could see from the top of the stairs was the front door, which was closed as usual. Carefully, she crept down the stairs, her hand pressed against the wall for balance. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she peered around the corner.

One of the kitchen chairs was tipped over on the floor.

That must have been what made the loud noise.

Were there bad guys in the house?

Her daddy would catch them, of course, but in case he needed help, she crept over to the front door and grabbed the only weapon she could find, her Dora the Explorer umbrella. She held it to her shoulder like she held the bat before she hit a home run in t-ball.

Well, she'd never hit a home run yet, but she was improving all the time. Her daddy had even started calling her "Slugger". He liked to give people nicknames.

She snuck around the corner, her eyes alert for bad guys.

There was no one there.

She walked towards the table, accidentally kicking a plastic game piece across the floor. It skidded across the tile floor, hitting the cupboard with an almost unnoticeable "ping".

She couldn't see anything, but she heard her mom giggle.

"Mommy?", she said, he voice sound small in the empty room. A second later, her daddy poked his head over the couch.

"What are you doing up, squirt?", he asked.

"Where's mommy?", she asked, her lower lip quivering.

Her mom's head popped over the back of the couch, too. "What's wrong?"

The umbrella clattered to the floor and she rushed into her mother's welcoming arms. "I heard a noise. I was scared there were bad guys here."

Her dad patted her back like he always did when she was scared. "You know I won't let bad guys get you, Christine."

She nodded, her head burrowed in her mother's shoulder. "We were playing a game, Christine, and your dad was just excited that he won."

"Because you missed the science question", her daddy added.

With her face still pressed against her mother, she missed the glare Brennan shot at Booth. Booth grinned and raised his eyebrows in response.

"Come on", her mom said, "Back to bed."

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	20. Home

**Note: **I was off work all week and totally thought I'd have time to update more often. Things did not go as planned. (in a good way, but still).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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It had been an irritating day.

They had been called out at 4:30 am for a grueling recovery at a truck stop, the lounge coffee machine was broken, and she had had four interviews with unacceptable candidates for the latest intern position. She was exhausted, stressed, and wanted nothing more than to go home, have a glass of wine, read the journal she'd received yesterday, and go to bed.

Of course, wine was off limits for obvious reasons, but tea would be an adequate substitute.

When Booth bounded into her office at 5:45, she had her laptop in its bag, her lab coat hung neatly on its hook, and her keys in her hand. She took one look at him and said, "Oh".

Naturally, he was offended. He'd been looking forward to seeing her all day, and her response was a groan of dismay.

It wasn't that she didn't care about him, but this was one of those days when she really just wanted to be spend the evening at home, alone, without having to listen to a TV she wasn't watching or walk over shoes kicked carelessly to the side of the entryway.

He looked hurt when she explained, but he assured her that he understood, and insisted on walking her to her car. She almost reconsidered when he kissed her goodnight, but she ached for some time alone, so she smiled and promised to meet him for breakfast.

**BbB**

Her apartment seemed bigger without him there, and the silence was almost oppressive as she made her tea. She persevered, though, and curled up on her couch with her journal.

Her cold feet distracted her from the articles she had been anxious to read. Usually, she'd rest them in Booth's lap to warm them, but instead she dug through her sock drawer and pulled out a pair of bulky wool socks. Again, she settled herself on the couch.

The faint music coming from a nearby apartment and the hum of traffic on the street below made it difficult to concentrate. She sipped her tea and read the same page for the fourth time.

Finally, she gave up and decided to go to bed. She went through her nightly routine, removing make up, combing her hair, and flossing and brushing her teeth, then found her favourite pajamas. It had been months since she'd worn them – lately, she slipped into one of Booth's shirts or wore nothing at all.

She pulled them on and noticed that the elastic was tighter than usual, the almost imperceptible changes the baby was causing making them uncomfortable and binding. She folded the pants and put them back in the drawer, pulling on an old pair of sweats instead. Thankfully, those still fit.

She threw back the covers and climbed onto her Egyptian cotton sheets, pulling the lightweight duvet up over her shoulders and relaxing into the comfort of the pillow she missed whenever she was away. Closing her eyes, she waited for sleep to claim her.

An hour later, she got up and went to the bathroom.

Two hours after that, she went and got a glass of water.

An hour after that, she gave up. She pulled on a coat, grabbed her keys and her laptop bag, and drove to his apartment.

She didn't want to wake him, so she used her key. He woke when she crawled into bed with him, and murmured, "I thought you wanted to spend the night at home?"

"Mmm", she replied as she settled in, "It's not home without you there."

She fell asleep before she noticed his grin.

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	21. Working On It

**Note:**Thanks to everyone who took the time to review the last installment.

I hurt myself yesterday – it's a minor injury, but means I can't use one of my fingers for a couple of days. Since I'm a touch typist, I did a lot more backspacing than usual in this one. Hope it makes sense.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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The fridge was stocked with healthy foods – milk, yogurt, fruits and vegetables. The nanny was scheduled to look after Christine in the mornings and to make sure she got safely to and from preschool in the afternoons. Booth was more than capable of caring for their daughter for the two weeks she'd be away.

As much as she wanted to make this trip, to participate in a dig that could change the course of human history, it was hard to be half a world away from her child, from Booth. As Brennan walked swiftly through the crowds on the way to the airport lounge, she consoled herself with the thought that she'd done everything she could to make sure they were safe and cared for while she was gone.

She produced her boarding pass at the front desk and settled herself in a comfortable chair near an electrical outlet. The first order of business was to call home. Soon, she was on a video chat with her daughter, admiring the painting Christine had made that day and laughing as her daughter moved so close to the camera that all she could see was one brown eye.

When they finally disconnected, the front desk was paging her for the next available shower. After a night on a plane, it was always nice to step into a steamy shower and change into clean clothes. It wasn't as good as being at home, of course, but it still made international travel more pleasant.

She dried her hair and repacked her carry on. Stepping back into the lounge, she detoured to pick up some soup, salad, and fruit, then sat down in her original chair, which was still thankfully free. She opened her laptop and logged in to her e-mail as she ate.

She had just finished her soup when she heard, "Temperance?"

At the sound of her name, she looked up. "Hannah?"

**BbB**

They had been friends once, but had not so much drifted apart as been violently flung in opposite directions. Hannah had walked out of Booth's life and devoted herself to her career – chasing stories, living in hotel rooms and tents, spending her time in a world of disasters and war. Brennan, on the other hand, had stayed, loyal to the man whose heart Hannah had bruised.

In the quiet lounge of one of the world's busiest airports, they reconnected over cans of beer. Hannah was an entertaining conversationalist, sharing stories of the mishaps she had experienced in her travels and off-camera interactions with politicians and dictators. Brennan listened intently, asking questions and laughing at Hannah's anecdotes.

After a while, Hannah picked up her beer and took a sip, then asked, "So how are you, Temperance?"

Brennan looked down at the table, then met her eyes. "I'm good. I'm living with Booth."

"I know", Hannah replied. "How is he? And your daughter?"

"Oh", Brennan said, "I wasn't sure how much you ..."

Hannah's grin was a little forced. "I'm a journalist, Temperance, and you're a public figure. I didn't really have to go searching for information."

Brennan took a sip of her beer and decided to be honest. "I know that you and Booth had ended things before anything happened between Booth and me, but I find that I'm a little uncomfortable." She laughed self-consciously. "It's not rational." She met Hannah's eyes again. "Does it bother you?"

Hannah leaned back in her chair. "Sometimes. A little. But Seeley and I … there was always something missing. I don't know if it was because I'm not the picket-fence type, or whether it was because he still had feelings for you." she kept her gaze on Brennan's face, noticing the slight tension, then continued, "Hell, maybe we were just wrong for each other."

"He loved you."

Hannah smiled wistfully. "He did. And I loved him. But it wasn't enough. And that's OK. If we hadn't broken up, I wouldn't have been able to do all the things I've done since then. And he wouldn't be with you." She leaned forward and grinned. "You could say you owe me one."

Brennan was startled. "Oh. I guess that would be accurate."

"I'm kidding, Tempe. But if it makes you feel better, you can buy me another beer."

"But the beer is free here", Brennan blurted out, almost immediately realizing that Hannah already knew that.

Hannah raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

Brennan laughed. "Oh, you were joking."

"Yeah", Hannah agreed, glancing over at the departures board by the front desk. "Besides, I should get going. My flight leaves soon." She stood and picked up her bag. "It was good to see you."

Brennan stood as well. "It was good to see you, too, Hannah."

The two women exchanged an awkward hug, and Hannah turned to leave.

As Brennan sat back down, Hannah turned back. "Tempe?"

Brennan looked up. "I'm glad things worked out for you and Seeley. He's a good man."

Brennan nodded. "He is", she agreed.

"Tell him ...", Hannah continued, "tell him I'm glad he's got what he always wanted."

"Do you have what you always wanted?" Brennan asked.

Hannah smiled. "Not yet", she answered, "but I'm working on it."

With that, she turned and walked away.

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I asked this a while ago, but I'm going to ask again - are there any of these you'd like a companion piece for? Are there any ideas you'd like explored? I don't promise to write them all, but I'm open to suggestions.


	22. Missing You

**Note: **Wow. Write about Hannah and watch the tumbleweeds go by. :)

So if you haven't watched the finale & don't want to know what happens, you might want to stop reading now.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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She misses him. They both do.

She hears Christine fussing and rushes to rinse the shampoo from her hair. Her daughter is safely strapped in her car seat – she's not comfortable leaving her unattended on the bathroom floor of a grimy, third-rate motel – but Christine obviously believes that playing is more important than an uninterrupted shower.

It's been one day and Brennan already knows she doesn't want to do this without him.

When she's clean, dry, and dressed in the cheap pajamas she picked up at a thrift store, she settles into bed.

If they were at home, Christine would be giggling as Booth played some silly game. She thinks he enjoyed peek-a-boo as much as the baby did.

Her daughter is a happy child, and she kicks and gurgles on the bed beside her. The baby is not tired – she slept most of the day in the car – and watching her, safe and happy, makes the pain a little more bearable.

This isn't the first time she's thought she might not see Booth again. It never gets easier – in fact, their new relationship makes it hurt that much more. It was the right choice – for her, for him, for Christine – but she wishes it could have been different.

She knows how much it hurts to be left behind.

Tomorrow she'll make another stop – she needs diapers and a couple more changes of clothes for Christine – and then she'll drive on. She's supposed to meet her father in two days, and she's got hundreds of miles to cover before then. In a world of cell phones and internet access, where it's possible to talk with someone thousands of miles away in seconds, it feels like regressing to the days of the pony express to hope that her father will bring a message from Booth.

For the first time since she was fifteen, she wants nothing more than to go home.

She wonders if this is how her parents felt.

**BbB**

He checks the reports of traffic fatalities every morning.

He knows Bones is strong and capable, but that isn't enough to protect her and Christine from an out of control semi or a drunk who shouldn't be on the road.

It's something of a futile quest – he doesn't know even know if they're still in the country – but he makes note of any accidents (homicides, abductions) involving a woman and a baby and digs until he knows for sure it's not them. Part of him believes he'd _know_ if it were, but Brennan's voice in his head is enough to make him search for proof.

He's on desk duty – the powers that be still look at him as if they think he knows where Bones is – and it gives him a little too much time to think, to wonder. (For the record, he doesn't know where they are. If he did, he'd be _there_, not here.)

He wants them back. He _needs_ to catch that bastard.

The Jeffersonian is still in the game, and he knows the squints want her back – maybe not as much as he does, but damn close. They're not going to give up.

Bones always said they were the best. He's never wanted her to be right more than he does now.

He hears about Caroline's legal troubles (accepting a bribe isn't the kind of thing the bar association will ignore), fields Angela's calls, and feels the weight of the guilt that tells him this is his fault. He should have been able to stop Pelant the first time.

If he had, Bones's friend would still be alive and his family would still be with him.

He works on the busy work that's all he's allowed to do and prays that the squints will find something soon. He doesn't look into the case that's most on his mind – he won't give that weasel the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten to him – but he makes a point in dropping by Flynn's office at least twice a day.

At one o'clock, he grabs lunch from the cafeteria and eats at his desk. The diner holds too many memories, and it's no fun without someone to steal his fries.

When he can't stand his office for another minute, he grabs a case file from his desk and goes out to interview witnesses. At least it will get him outside in the sunshine.

He wonders if the sun is shining where she is.

He stops by the Jeffersonian on the way back and talks with Wendell about the hockey game he missed. He accepts the hug Cam offers but ducks out before Angela can see him. It's Michael's birthday next week, but no one feels like celebrating less than he does. (He knows Angela understands, but Bones's absence is hard for her and he doesn't want to make her feel guilty for celebrating her son's birthday.)

He works late – he doesn't have Parker again until next weekend, and there's no joy in going home to an empty house – and hopes Max is as good a fugitive as he claims he is.

When he's too exhausted to continue, he checks the reports of traffic fatalities one more time and heads home.

Before he slips into bed, he prays that the god she doesn't believe in will keep them safe and bring them home.

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	23. Don't Know What You've Got

**Note: ** In my mind, Christine is about 12 in this one.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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I can't believe I'm stuck going to _day camp. _I'm way too old for _camp. _

It's not like I didn't have other plans for the summer. My friend Haley has a pool in her backyard, and we were going to spend the summer hanging out by the pool. Owen – who just happens to be the cutest guy in our class – lives across the street, and we made sure he knew he was welcome any time.

Grandpa wouldn't care if I was over there every day – he'd have time to play bridge or whatever old people do, and he'd be able to come over and try to charm Haley's housekeeper when it was time to go home.

The charm thing is kind of icky – it's like he has a crush on Mrs. Smyth, but obviously he's way too old for that kind of thing. But whatever, at least I'd get to spend the summer the way I wanted to.

Those plans went out the window when mom got asked to go on some sort of boring dig in the middle of Africa. She even wanted me to go with her, saying it would be educational, but dad put his foot down – something about security and rebels and war. They ended up compromising – I'd spend the month of July at the Jeffersonian day camp, and in August dad and I would fly over to meet mom.

That was so not how I wanted my summer to go.

The only consolation to having my summer totally ruined was that Michael was stuck at camp, too. He's a year older than me, and his parents were going to let him stay home this summer. That is, until they tried it out during winter break and came home to find he'd burned a hole through the table doing some sort of chemistry experiment. He's such a geek. I mean, I like science, too, but I don't do it for _fun_.

It was nice to know someone at camp, but the downside was the constant teasing. "Hey, Chris, anyone ever tell you that you have a boy's name?", "Watch out, Chris, the mummy behind you is moving", "Your table's a mess, Chris, were you born in a barn?" He's even got other people calling me Chris, even though he _knows_ my name is Christine. He just has to be annoying.

Each week we focus on a different specialty of the Jeffersonian – last week we did some paleontology, this week it's all about Egyptian history, next week is computer stuff. Michael _loved _paleontology week – he's always liked dinosaurs, since way back when we were little. I have to admit it was kind of interesting, and I loved showing Michael up when we went on that field trip to the dig.

A couple of days ago, one of the other girls at camp cornered me in the bathroom and started asking all kinds of questions about Michael – Did he have a girlfriend? What kind of girls did he like? Like I would know about Michael's love life. I asked her why she was asking me, and she said, "You're his sister, aren't you?"

Seriously? She thought Michael was my _brother?_

Apparently my answers gave her hope, and she decided to basically stalk us. She sat with us at lunch, she wanted to be in our group during the day, she was there flipping her hair and giggling when it was time to leave.

It was really annoying.

Michael didn't find her as irritating as I did. Sometimes he even flirted back. That just encouraged her. I tried to tell him it was a mistake, but he just smirked at me and said, "You know, Chris, if you'd go out with me I wouldn't need to flirt with other girls."

Right. He just wanted me to say I'd go out with him so he could tease me about that, too. He'd love that.

Since I refused to play Michael's little game, I had to put up with Ally. It's not like I was going to start avoiding Michael. I mean, why should I have to find new people to hang out with? I was here first.

Of course, that meant I had to listen to a ten minute monologue about Egyptian burial practices while I ate my tuna fish sandwich. Michael kept encouraging her, too, talking about embalming practices and those jars they put the lungs and stomachs in. She kept looking at me like she expected me to get grossed out and leave, but I've eaten meals with skulls staring at me from the counter. It'll take more than a little talk about embalming to gross me out.

When we went off to find Dr. Hodgins yesterday, I was teasing Michael about Ally. Hey, he teases me all the time. It's only fair, right? He was kind of squirming, too, so I knew I was hitting a nerve.

I figured today would be the same kind of day – we hang out, Ally pushes her way into the conversation, I try not to hit her so that dad doesn't ground me, I tease Michael after camp – same old story.

But … this morning when we got here, Michael ditched me at the door and went _looking _for her. The two of them had their heads close together, laughing and talking.

I don't get it. I mean, he doesn't _like_ her, does he?

I don't know why the idea of that bothers me so much.

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So … I had one idea about where I wanted this one to go, but it took on a life of its own and never got there. Maybe next time.


	24. Miles to Go Before I Sleep

**Note: **I'm getting the impression that people are losing interest in these. Including me.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

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She'd lived without him before. She didn't meet him until she was well into her twenties, of course, but even after that, there were separations – fights, trips overseas, the time he faked his death, the days he spent not knowing who she was. It wasn't like she needed him to survive.

But … during those separations, she hadn't known how it felt to fall asleep in his arms, to wake with him beside her. She hadn't known how hard he'd work to build a life with her, or how tenderly he'd hold their child.

Being away from him felt like she'd torn away a critical piece of herself. Knowing that it was the best thing for all of them was little comfort.

She forced a smile at the man in the sweat-stained ball cap and his tired-looking wife. The money she'd been able to withdraw before she left D.C. had gone to new identities, and she'd learned days ago that friendly waitresses got better tips. She tried to tell herself it was like being undercover, but it wasn't as much fun without Booth.

Not much was.

In another hour, she'd hang up her apron and walk the three blocks to the small furnished apartment. Her daughter would squeal with happiness when she walked in, and her dad would fill her in on their adventures during the day. Christine had been pushing herself up on her hands and knees for days – maybe today would be the day she'd finally start to crawl. If Booth were there, he'd insist on recording the milestone with the video camera he'd bought before their child was born. Since he wasn't, the camera on her disposable cell phone would have to do.

She stacked the dishes off of an empty table and carried them to the kitchen. She'd worked in a library in high school, and as a teaching assistant in college. This was the first time she'd ever worked such a demanding yet menial job. She wiped down the table and wished she could access just 1% of her investments.

They'd been in this small city for three weeks, and Max was already getting antsy, going off on mysterious errands and getting phone calls he wouldn't talk about. She'd wager they'd be moving on to a new place before the week was out.

It wouldn't be home, of course, but at least she'd be able to go for a couple days without the smell of stale grease in her hair.

She wondered how the team was doing. Were they any closer to catching Pelant? Would she be able to go home soon? Would she be able to steal Booth's fries at the diner and listen to him tell her to wear slippers around the house? Would she be able to tell him how much she missed him, how much she loved him?

Would he still love her, even after she took their daughter and ran?

She poured another cup of coffee and looked at the clock. Five minutes to go. She counted change for the couple in the corner, smiling gratefully when the woman said, "Keep it, honey.", and topped up the soft drinks for the table of teenagers sharing a pizza. When her shift ended, she hung up her apron and waved goodbye to the cook. Her feet aching, she stepped out onto the street.

She made it half a block before the familiar blue vehicle pulled up beside her. "Get in, honey", her father said, "It's time to go."


End file.
